At this moment the dingy’s bow ran high upon the beach, and the officer sprang out, followed by the detective.
“Mr. Barr,” said the former, “your license to shoot for market in these waters has been revoked.”
“What for?” demanded Barr, doubling his huge fists and scowling at the officer as if he wanted to knock him down.
“You have been slaughtering wild fowl contrary to law,” was the answer.
“I hain’t, nuther, and you can’t prove it,” Barr almost shouted. “Show me the man that says so, and I’ll show you a man that will be whopped before he can get the words out of his mouth.”
“That’s just the point,” replied the officer, calmly. “If I could prove it on you, it would be my duty to arrest you at once. That skiff is pretty good evidence——”
“It’s one I had left from last year—one that you and your big Baltimore detectives were not smart enough to find,” interrupted Barr.
“Well, we’ve found it now, and you are not likely to use it again very soon. Why didn’t you take the block out of it?”
“Kase I didn’t want to—that’s why. I’ll see whether or not I won’t use it again to pick up the ducks I shoot over my decoys. I’ll have that sink-boat and my license back, too. I’ll go up to Havre de Grace to-morrow, and if you can’t make out a case against me, I’ll have you took up for a thief.”
“It may be possible that I shall want you to go back with me to-day,” said the officer, drawing a legal document from his breast-pocket.