“W-w-what is it?” he gasped.
“Discovery, you precious hound!” explained Herc. Before Anderson could use the pistol he carried, the Dreadnought Boy’s fist had struck it upward out of his hand. The weapon fell ringing on the metal flooring.
The next instant Herc had possession of it.
“Now get hold of this fellow’s gun. I can’t hold him much longer,” gasped Ned, from his position on the recumbent Gradbarr’s neck. While Ned held the fellow’s wrist pinned tightly to the floor, Herc took possession of the pistol which Gradbarr still gripped.
“Blazes take you,” fumed the fellow. “I’ll make you sorry for this some day. I’ll fix you.”
“Then you’ll have to defer it till after you get out of the penitentiary,” shot out Ned. “We’ve caught you two in as precious a bit of knavery as was ever heard of.”
As he spoke he let go of Gradbarr, and, springing nimbly aside out of the way of a possible sudden attack, allowed the man to rise. For one instant bovine rage flared on the fellow’s sullen features. But the next moment he seemed to realize that he was overmastered.
“Well, what are you going to do with us?” he demanded.
Anderson stood trembling by. Suddenly he broke into hysterical pleadings.
“For heaven’s sake don’t disgrace me,” he begged. “Think of what it’ll mean to me to go to prison.”