Goodlove's face became ghastly. He walked more rapidly, and finally, seizing his hat from the hatrack, stepped out to the street. He had gone but a few steps, however, when a hand was laid on his shoulder—a heavy hand. The man would have shrieked if he had not been actually paralyzed with terror.
"Hello, Goodlove," said the man who had seized him. "Where are you going?"
The man trembled, but could not answer.
"Well, we've got you, mister. But let me ask you, is this your first offense? If it is it's all the better for you, that's all. We may let up on you, but we've got you dead to rights."
The man managed to gasp:
"What do you mean?"
"Oh, come off! We've got you all right. We didn't close in on you until we had all the proof. Where are the bonds you stole from Miss Sidney's trunk, and the money?"
The detective talked in such a matter-of-fact tone, with such absolute assurance, that the culprit was all "broke up." He just wilted.
"Who says I stole the bonds?"
"Oh, come off! don't attempt that. Old man, see here; do you want to be locked up? Turn over the stolen property, and if this is your first offense I'll let you go; but if you attempt to deny or play 'possum I'll lock you up and you will go to Sing Sing Prison; that's all."