"Why—er—what—who are you?" he stammered, hardly being able to speak.
"You know very well who I am," answered our hero. "I am the boy you robbed in Chicago."
"Robbed!" gasped the old man in black. "Did you say robbed?"
"I did, sir. This man is a rascal and a thief."
"You are mistaken——" began Jim Huskin, but his manner showed how uncomfortable he felt.
"A rascal and a thief!" murmured the old man, and looked as if he would faint. It did not take him long to place his pocketbook in his pocket again.
Jim Huskin was a man who made up his mind quickly. He saw that Robert had the best of him, and that his only chance for safety lay in flight. Turning swiftly, he started to run from the building.
But he had reckoned without Dick Marden, and he had scarcely taken two steps when the miner put out his foot and sent him sprawling in the hallway. At once a crowd began to collect.
"What's the row here?" demanded the janitor of the building, as he rushed up.
"We've collared a thief," answered Marden. "Call a policeman."