“How dare you, you cub,” roared Stonington Hunt, once more losing his temper and springing forward, but something in Rob’s steady gaze made him lower his uplifted arm.
“Are you going to let me see that message?” demanded Rob, in whose mind a suspicion had now grown into a definite certainty. “Are you?”
Hunt’s answer was to tear the sheet of paper in two, but before he could reduce it to smaller bits and scatter them broadcast, Rob was upon him, and with one powerful wrench of the man’s wrists had gained possession of it.
“I’ll have you arrested for assault!” stormed Hunt. “I’ll see the constable, I’ll have you put in jail! I’ll appear against you as a dangerous character, I’ll——”
“Hold on a minute, there,” warned Rob, who had fitted the two torn bits of crumpled paper together. “If you go to doing anything like that I may have to turn the tables by appearing against you on a more serious charge.”
Hunt paled, and his eyes glittered strangely, but he tried to bluff it out.
“What charge, boy?” he demanded, his words seeming to choke him.
“That of forgery,” shot out Rob. “This message is a bit of rank deceit. It hasn’t even got a time stamp or an office number on it. You’d better get out of here, Mr. Hunt, and—quick, too!”
Hunt made a step forward, and then appeared to change his mind. He turned so white with rage that his face seemed like a bit of carved marble.
“You young cur,” he hissed. “This is the second time. You came near getting your deserts in the wood yesterday. Look out for the third time!”