"Oh, I suppose not—voluntarily. Anyway, you ought to tell us why you are so intimate with your uncle's negro valet——"
"You make me sick!" exclaimed Mason, wearily. "Sim told me all about your looney suspicions about he and I making away with my uncle. But I defy you to prove any of your crack-brained theories. You are on the wrong trail, Brady. And I advise you to leave me alone, or by jingo, I'll defend myself and make it very warm for you."
"Got a big political pull?" laughed the old detective.
"No, but I carry a gun in my pocket!" hissed Mason, furiously.
"Oh, pshaw! That don't scare me a bit, my boy. Then you won't confess——"
"I'll tell you nothing of my personal affairs!" roared Mason. "Clear out! Mind your own business. Leave me alone! I don't want to have anything to do with you fellows! Do you understand?"
And he scowled and stamped his foot on the pavement and rushed past them and hastily entered his house.
The Bradys laughed and walked away.
"He's getting afraid of us," said Harry.
"Yes. We are wearing on his nerves. He knows we are watching him, and it makes him very uneasy. However, when we get good proof of his guilt, we'll nail him, and that will end his rascality."