“Ask Captain Beeman,” rejoined the prisoner, nodding at the commander of the “Buzzard.”
Captain Beeman looked at once alarmed.
“Why, gentlemen, that seven hundred dollars is what your friend——”
“Our prisoner,” interrupted Haight.
“It’s what your prisoner paid me to take him to the coast of Mexico.”
“As it is stolen money, Captain Beeman,” rejoined Mr. Haight, frigidly, “I reckon you’ll have to give it up.”
“That doesn’t seem fair,” argued Beeman, hoarsely. “I accepted the money, and I didn’t know it to be stolen.”
“No, of course; you didn’t even suspect, when your passenger agreed to an exorbitant price for his fare to the Mexican coast,” jeered the bank man. “You had so little suspicion, in fact, that you caused us to all but ruin our engines in the effort to reach you. You ignored our bunting signals after we hoisted them.”
“I didn’t see your signals,” protested Beeman, with an injured air. “I stopped as soon as you fired, and I realized——”
“When you realized that we meant business,” sneered the policeman who had handled the rifle.