“Lordy!” gasped Tuttle. “Don’t snap anybody’s head off. Haven’t you had breakfast? Here, take some peanuts.”
Disdaining this placating offer, Fred strode away at Sleuth’s side. Reaching the bridge, they paused.
“I hope you’re not going to appeal to me from the standpoint of friendship,” said Piper. “You must realize that it’s too late now, old man. Your brother is captured, and I can do nothing. I expect to receive the reward offered for his apprehension.”
“The offer was withdrawn long ago, when it was supposed that he had been drowned in the Hudson.”
“Oh, I don’t mean that; I mean the reward offered for the party known as James Wilson, or Gentleman Jim.”
“Piper, you’re on the wrong track. My brother is not Gentleman Jim.”
Again Sleuth shrugged. Slipping his hand into his pocket, he drew forth the printed description of James Wilson which he had clipped from the newspaper.
“This fits him to a tee,” he said. “He must be the man.”
“I admit that, in a way, the description of Wilson seems to fit my brother, but still, I maintain that they are two different men, Piper. You’ll find it out, too, if this Wilson was concerned in the attempt on the bank last night and he does not escape the men who are hunting for him. My brother had no hand in that business.”
“How do you know that?”