"You know what I want," said the detective, quietly. "I want you."
"What do you want me for?" demanded the other; but it was easy to see that he was nervous and alarmed.
"You know that also," said the detective; "but I don't mind telling you. You came from Philadelphia this morning, and your name is 'Sly Bill.' You are a noted burglar, and I shall take you into immediate custody."
"You're mistaken," said Bill. "You've got hold of the wrong man."
"That will soon be seen. Have the kindness to accompany me to the station-house, and I'll take a look into that valise of yours."
Bill was physically a stronger man than the detective, but he succumbed at once to the tone of quiet authority with which he spoke, and prepared to follow, though by no means with alacrity.
"Here, my lad," said the detective, beckoning Ben, who came up. "Come and see me at this place, to-morrow," he continued, producing a card, "and I won't forget the promise I made you."
"All right," said Ben.
"I'm in luck ag'in," he said to himself. "At this rate it won't take me long to make fifty dollars. Smashin' baggage for burglars pays pretty well."
He bethought himself of his papers, of which half remained unsold. He sold some on the way back to the wharf, where, after a while, he got another job, for which, being at some distance, he was paid fifty cents.