“An’ s’posin’ I don’t?” he asked, defiantly.
“Then it’s the jug for yours. You’re the one we want. The rest of you can go—and keep away, too,” added the detective, significantly.
The tramps slunk off, glad enough to escape. Only Hogan remained.
“Well,” he said, but now his nerve was gone. He looked surlily at Pop, and wet his lips nervously.
“Go on,” urged the officer.
“I guess I did get a few things from his bag—leastwise it was a satchel like the one he tells about,” confessed Hogan.
“Then that clears me!” cried Joe, joyfully.
Reggie Varley held out his hand to the young pitcher.
“It was silly of me ever to have suspected you,” he said, contritely. “Will you forgive me?”
“Of course!” Joe would have forgiven Reggie almost anything.