Mrs. Larkspur wrung her hands.
“This is dreadful, Mr. Gibson! I cannot believe it!”
“Why, don’t you believe that I lost the money?” demanded the sharper.
“I don’t mean that. I mean I cannot believe that anybody in my house would be a thief.”
“Humph!”
“If this—this gets out in public it will ruin me!” moaned the landlady, who had never had anything go wrong before.
“That is not my affair, Mrs. Larkspur. Still,” Gabe Flecker’s voice took on a softer tone. “I do not wish to make trouble for you, madam.” He paused as if deliberating. “Receipt my bill and give me ten dollars, and I’ll say nothing about it.”
“But I shall say a good deal about it, Mr. Flecker,” came a voice from the doorway, and Frank stepped into the room. From the reception room he had overheard every word that had been said.
“What, you!” stammered the swindler, as he found himself confronted by the young book agent.
“Yes. And you are caught in the act this time, Mr. Flecker.”