“Stop shooting, and I’ll surrender.”
Herbert put his pistol away, and striking a match, lit the gas. The burglar was crouching in a corner of the room back of a book-case. His clothing seemed to be in tatters. Herbert strode over to where he was and grabbing him by the arm, pulled him out. The man turned round with a whine:
“You’re not going to hurt me, are you?” he said.
Something in the voice attracted Herbert at once. He scrutinized the bleared face and recognized in it the countenance of Harry Adler. The discovery aroused his indignation.
“You scoundrel!” he shouted, raising his voice in his anger. “What do you mean by coming here and trying to rob these people. Aren’t you satisfied with the injury you have already done to this family? You have taken their boy away from them, and now to cap the climax, you are low enough and despicable enough to come and try to rob them of their property.”
“What family?” asked Adler, looking up at the young man with a sullen gaze.
“What family?” ejaculated Herbert, “do you mean to say that you did not know that this was John Black’s house?”
“No,” was the reply with an ugly leer. “I didn’t know it was John Black’s house. I was hard up; I had to get something; I needed money. This looked like an easy thing. How could I tell whose crib I was trying to crack?”
“Well,” said Herbert bitterly, “you put your head in the noose this time all right You’ve been caught red-handed, and you’ll go to jail without doubt.”
“How do you know this?” asked Adler, with sudden defiance.