“What is it, boy?” demanded the other, with a slight start at being accosted so unexpectedly.
“I want to see you about that piece of bric-a-brac you broke at the auction store up on Nausau street.”
The man’s face reddened, and he looked confused.
“I don’t—don’t know what you are talking about,” he stammered.
“Oh, yes, you do,” returned Matt coolly. “You tried to let the blame fall on a young lady, but it 34 won’t work. You must go back, explain matters, and settle up.”
“I’ll do nothing of the kind!” blustered the red mustached man. He had recovered from his first alarm. “I know nothing of the affair you have in mind. I have not been near an auction store to-day—for a month, in fact.”
“That’s a whopper!” exploded Matt. “You were in the place less than an hour and a half ago!”
“Nonsense, boy, you have got hold of the wrong man. Let me go.”
“Not much I won’t! You are the man, and you can’t fool me.”
“If you don’t let go I’ll call a policeman just as sure as my name is Paul Carden.”