They almost dropped their handbags at the unexpectedness of the meeting. But if they were startled, Bugs was frightened and turned on his heel to run. In an instant Joe had him by the collar in a grip of iron, while Jim stood on the alert to stop him should he break away.
“Let me go!” cried Hartley in stifled tones, for Joe’s grip was almost choking him.
“Not until you tell me why you tried to murder me to-night,” said Joe, grimly.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” snarled Bugs, trying to wrench himself loose from Joe’s hold on his collar.
“You know well enough,” replied his captor. “Own up.”
“You might as well, Bugs,” put in Jim. “We’ve got the goods on you.”
“You fellows are crazy,” replied Bugs. “I’ve never laid eyes on you since I saw you in Chicago. And you can’t prove that I did either.” 109
“You’re the only enemy I have in the world,” declared Joe. “And the man who threw that rock at me to-night was a practiced thrower. Besides, you’re all in a sweat—that’s from running away when we chased you.”
“Swell proof that is,” sneered Hartley. “Tell that to a judge and see what good it will do you.”
The point was well taken, and Joe and Jim knew in their hearts that they had no legal proof, although they were morally certain Bugs was guilty. Besides, they had no time to have him arrested, for their train was scheduled to start in ten minutes.