Bob’s attempt to appear easy and unconcerned was a miserable failure. He knew who the man was, and what brought him there, for he accidentally caught a glimpse of something on the under side of the lapel of his coat. It was a detective’s shield!
Although his heart almost came up into his mouth, he did not lose his courage. He tried to “brave it out,” but, of course, overdid the matter, and his behavior was enough to have removed the last doubt as to his identity, had any existed in the mind of the detective.
“And more than that,” continued Bob, “I don’t live in Norwall. My home is in Omaha. Good-evening!”
“Good-evening,” said the detective. “No offense, I hope?”
“None whatever,” replied Bob politely. “We are all liable to make mistakes.”
“You don’t happen to have a good cigar about your clothes, do you?” said the officer.
Of course Bob had, for he was always well supplied, and promptly produced one.
The detective put it between his teeth, and accepting Bob’s cigar, applied the lighted end to his own, and puffed away until it was fairly started, all the while running his eye over the face and figure of the boy before him.
“Thank you,” said he; “we’ll smoke as we go along. If you are all ready, I am. I see you understand the situation, so there’s no use in wasting time in words. Your father will be along some time to-morrow, and any little explanations you may want—why, he’ll give ’em to you. I guess we had better be walking along now.”
“Haven’t you instructions to arrest somebody else?” asked Bob, with wonderful courage and self-possession.