“Call an officer, call an officer, for pity’s sake. This man is going to fight me.”
“I wasn’t going to hurt the old swab,” cried Tom as the policeman laid his fingers on his strong arm, “but the fool said I stole that bundle, and it’s my clothes.”
“Well, you come along with me, my young man, for I think I’ve seen you before.”
“Where?” asked Tom.
“In front of Mr. Benson’s home, on Fifth avenue, last night, and there was a great robbery committed there a little later.”
CHAPTER V.
“A robbery?” muttered Tom. “Well, old pard, it wasn’t me.”
While the argument was going on a little fellow slipped like a rat from his hiding place, and would have scurried away but the pawnbroker held him tightly.
“Where were you, you little devil?” whispered he.
“Under the counter.”