Paul’s intended response was violently interrupted. Knocking his own head with one pair of knuckles, Billy brought those of his other hand down forcibly on his friend’s tawny hair, at the same time and not once, but repeatedly.
Not until Jones escaped beyond reach, which he did by tumbling ungracefully backward over a chair, as he retreated from the mysterious attack, did Worth explain himself.
“That man—the drunken fellow we saw Fobes arrest on Saturday night—you remember? He’s the fellow who wore this raincoat, stole our basket and—who knows?—maybe the car! Plain as daylight! Why didn’t we see it before? The cap, the leather leggins all caked with mud—I couldn’t see it all plainer if he stood in this very room!”
For a few seconds Paul was lost in a confusion of thoughts, but he extricated himself at last, saying:
“Thunder! I do remember that that fellow Fobes got wore leggins—yes, and the cap! But—why, a lot of people wear ’em for fishing trips and——”
“Yes, and chauffeurs wear ’em,” put in Billy, heatedly. “I say, come on! We’ll have a look and we’ll get something out of this, you bet!”
Whether Paul would or would not wager, however, he did not say. What he did reply was: “Honest, Bill, I hope there’s something to it, but—anyhow, let’s not be too sure!”
Chief Fobes, dozing the early afternoon away in his dingy office, sleepily called to the boys, “Come in!”
They entered. Needless to say, also, the haste and earnestness in Billy’s manner fully awakened the officer of the law rather more abruptly than often happened.
“We want to find out about a fellow you arrested Saturday evening. Wore a cap and high boots or leggins,” spoke young Mr. Worth in a single breath.