“What do you mean by that?” he asked.
“Never mind what I mean,” replied Joe. “I’ve had tabs kept on you. I’ve known what you are ever since the night you tried to bribe me to throw games.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” declared Harrish. “I never tried to bribe you to do anything.”
“That adds another to the final score you’ll have to pay,” declared Joe. “Tompkinson’s had his licking and you’ll get yours before I’m through with you. But that isn’t the question just now. Come across with those stocks that belong to Mr. Varley.”
“They don’t belong to him,” asseverated Harrish. “They’re mine. If you get them you’ll have to sue for them.”
“That’s your final word, is it?” demanded Joe.
“My final word,” asserted Harrish.
“All right, Harrish,” Joe said as he rose. “You’ve had your chance, and you’re too big a fool to take it. You’d better begin practicing the lockstep. We’re on your trail, and we’re going to run you down. Come along, Reggie.”
Baseball Joe and his brother-in-law left the office, followed by a look in Harrish’s eyes in which hate strove for the mastery over fear.
“My word, old man!” exclaimed Reggie when they were once more in the street, “you’ve got my bean whirlin’. How did you ever know so well what the rascal had been doin’?”