The secret-service man stared grimly while Doc Birch completed the destruction of the counterfeit bills.
“Sorry you came in so soon,” said the pawnbroker calmly. He looked in the furnace and closed the door. “Wait about five minutes. Then you can look around all you like and pick up anything you can find.”
He stared toward The Shadow.
“You’re out of luck, fellow,” he said. “I’ve got a right to plug you. You’re a burglar. Well, keep your mouth shut. Savvy?”
The secret-service man interrupted.
“You might as well give up, Birch,” he said in his firm voice. “You’re in for enough already, without using that gun of yours. My men are coming in your house now.”
“That so?” sneered Birch. “Let them come. They won’t find anything. You don’t know what I burned, and you never will know.”
“You can’t get rid of the plates,” replied the Federal agent. “So put your gun away. The jig is up.”
“What plates?” Doc Birch’s voice was filled with apprehension.
“The plates this fellow just uncovered in the coal pile,” replied the officer.