Between Allen and Orchard Streets the detectives closed in on the small boy. Bob had put himself fairly in front of him, and Tom followed close behind. The chief detective slackened his pace very perceptibly, and seemed to be trying to make out the number on the house before which he now halted.
“Can you tell me where old Gunwagner lives?” said he, addressing the small boy, who was now about to pass by.
The boy stopped suddenly, and the color as suddenly left his face.
Bob had purposely chosen this locality, close to a gaslight, so that he might note the effect of his question upon the boy. Now he gave the signal as agreed upon, and Tom instantly came up and took a position that made retreat for the lad impossible. The latter saw this, and burst into tears. Conscious of his own guilt, he needed no further accuser to condemn him.
“Don’t take it so hard,” said Bob; “you do the square thing, and we won’t blow on you—will we, Tom?”
“No, we won’t,” replied the latter.
“We saw you when you went into Gunwagner’s—saw the package in your hand, and know the whole game,” continued Bob. “Now, if you will help us put up a job, why, we will let you off; but if you don’t come down square and do the right thing, why, we will jest run you in, and you’ll get a couple of years or more on the Island. Now what do you say?”
“What do you want me to do?” sobbed the small boy, trembling with fear.
“I want you to go back with us, and take me into Gunwagner’s.”
Tom was an interested listener, for he knew nothing about Bob’s plans or purposes.