There seemed to be a helpless note in Calhoun's voice. He passed his hand heavily across his eyes.
“What's the meaning of this?” he cried out. “What do you know about what happened in there?”
“Nothing much,” said the other coolly. “Except that I'm the guy that pinched the swag, and hit Kirschell that welt on the head.”
“You!” Calhoun involuntarily stepped back. “Yes, sure—me!” The man shrugged his shoulders. “Me and a pal who was outside. He's away now putting the cash box where it won't come to any harm—savvy? He'll be back pretty soon.”
The Hawk's lips moved.
“Number Three and Number Seven,” whispered the Hawk gently.
“I—I don't understand,” said Calhoun dazedly. “Then why are you telling me this. And why are you staying here? And how did you know that Kirschell accused me of being in it?”
“That's another one that's easy,” announced the man evenly. “Because it was part of the game to make him think so.”
Calhoun seemed to stiffen up.
“What! You mean, you——”