“Because the house is guarded back and front,” was the reply; “because I have caught you in the act and you are my prisoner now, and I don’t propose to permit you to escape.”
The burglar looked at his antagonist in a blank sort of way for a moment, then a glitter of intelligence and cunning suddenly illumined the fishy eyes and the sodden face.
“If you permit the police to take me up to-night you’ll regret it to the very end of your life.”
Something in the man’s manner and in the tone of his voice arrested Herbert’s attention. Some instinctive feeling seemed to tell him that these words were not mere bravado. He turned to the culprit:
“Why? Why do you say this?”
“Because,” exclaimed Adler, in a shrill voice, “if you have me arrested I’ll squeal. I’ll tell the truth and the whole truth about young Arthur Black. He came to New York with me as my partner. He was concerned in that dirty get-rich-quick business. I’ll turn State’s evidence, and if I go to jail he’ll go with me, and you can bet your sweet life that the Black family will be mighty unhappy before I get through with them.”
Herbert was the picture of distress. The man watched him with a leer. With all his defects, Adler possessed acute intelligence and he realized that Herbert was more deeply interested in Mary Black than he was willing to acknowledge. Knowing this, he felt that he had struck his captor in his weakest spot. It did not take Herbert long to decide. Turning to the unfortunate man, he said:
“Suppose you are released, what then?”
“Then mum’s the word,” replied the burglar, “I’ll not squeal; I’ll go about my business and let you and your friends go about yours.”
“Wait a minute,” was Herbert’s comment. Going to the foot of the stairs, he called for Mary Black. She came up very much agitated. She peeped in at the burglar, who still lay in a heap on the floor, and shuddered at the sight. Herbert whispered to her.