Dalton and Dawley were just rising when Halstead, seated where he could see out into the office, saw Seaton and a stranger enter.
“Now, the music will begin,” thought Tom Halstead, throbbing.
“There he is, officer—the dark one!” cried Powell Seaton, leading the way into the dining room.
Jim Hunter lost no time. He made a spring in the direction of Anson Dalton, whose eyes flashed fire. Trained in a hard, desperate school, Dalton was fuller of tricks than the police chief had expected.
As Hunter rushed at him, Dalton forcefully pushed one of the small tables toward him. It struck Hunter amidships, most unexpectedly, and had the result of sending Mocalee’s police force sprawling to the floor.
“You can’t stop me—you shall not!” roared Anson Dalton. He made a dash for the doorway leading to the office. Swift as he was, Tom Halstead darted through ahead of him.
“He’ll try to get that red bag—and he’ll put up a fight with a pistol!” flashed through the young motor boat skipper’s brain. “I’ll fool him so far as the bag is concerned.”
Diving into the coat-room, the door of which stood open, Halstead was in season to snatch up the bag. He turned, to find Dalton rushing at him, hands reached out. 244
Ducking under, Tom eluded Dalton, and darted across the office.