The old fence grated his teeth, and looked the very incarnation of all that was evil. The wicked spirit that shone in his face would have afforded a rare study for a painter. He made a movement of his right hand, as if to reach back to his hip pocket. A movement of this sort, under such circumstances, is considered suggestive of firearms.
Bob did not wait to see whether he was reaching for a revolver or some other ugly weapon, but instantly fell upon this hand, and secured it. The other hand was in Herbert’s firm grasp, so it was useless for the old fence to struggle further.
“My turn has come now to get square with you, you cruel old sinner,” said Herbert. “I begged of you to take me out of that foul cellar and away from those dreadful rats, but you showed no mercy.”
Gunwagner made no reply.
“Yes, and he was goin’ to send you off on some kind of a ship tomorrow, so you would never get back to New York no more,” said Bob.
“Send me off on a ship!” exclaimed our hero, with a shudder. He had not until now even imagined the full purpose of his enemies.
“Yes, that’s what they said tonight, him and that Mortimer feller.”
“And you heard this?”
“Yes, when I was in that box under the counter there,” replied Bob, with enthusiasm; “and they talked about bank robbin’, too.”
At this revelation old Gunwagner seemed to give up all hope. The hardness of his face melted into an expression of pain, and he trembled with fear, like the frightened thing that he was. He had been outwitted by the young detective.