The carriage was brought up to the curb and our hero and the officers alighted, the Colonel remaining behind to keep an eye on the driver.
Mr. Wakefield Smith was strolling down the street in a lordly way when Jerry tapped him on the shoulder.
“So I’ve met you again,” he said.
The pickpocket turned and his face fell. But only for a moment; then he gazed at the youth brazenly.
“I don’t know you, me boy,” he drawled in an assumed voice.
“But I know you, Mr. Smith,” rejoined Jerry. “I want the balance of my money. I got ten dollars the night you were intoxicated, but that is not enough.”
“Boy, you are talking riddles. I never saw you before.”
“I can easily prove it, I fancy.”
“It’s no use, Charley,” broke in the detective, who had followed me. “We know you well enough.”
“And who are you?” asked the pickpocket, much disconcerted.