“But I—er—I don’t understand,” spoke Reggie, slowly. “Where is it you want to go?”
“After the tramp who rifled the valise you suspected me of opening in that way-station some time ago,” answered Joe quickly. “We’re after him to prove I didn’t do it!”
“Oh, but my dear Matson—really now, I don’t believe you took it. Sis went for me red-hot, you know, after you told her. She called me all kinds of a brute for even mentioning it to you, and really——”
He paused rather helplessly, while Joe, taking the situation into his own hands, climbed up beside Reggie, who was alone in his big car. The young pitcher motioned for Pop to get into the tonneau, and the veteran did so, still wondering what was going to happen.
“It’s all right,” laughed Joe, more light-hearted than he had been in many months. “If you’ll take us to Shiller’s Woods you may see something that will surprise you.”
“But still I don’t understand.”
Joe explained briefly how Hogan, the railroad tramp, had boasted of robbing a valise corresponding to Reggie’s. Hogan was now within five miles of Pittston, hiding in a tramps’ camp, and if he was arrested, or caught, he might be made to tell the truth of the robbery, clear Joe, and possibly inform Reggie where the watch and jewelry had been disposed of.
“I don’t suppose he has any of it left,” said Reggie, simply. “There was one bracelet belonging to sis that I’d like awfully much to get back.”
“Well, we can try,” answered Joe, hopefully.
“Sometimes,” broke in Pop, “those fellows can’t dispose of the stuff they take, and then they hide it. Maybe we can get it back.”