The person under his inspection was swinging a light bamboo cane and smoking a cigarette. He wore a jet black moustache and a jet black speck of a goatee. Moustache and goatee were unmistakably of the variety Andy had seen a circus fakir selling for twenty-five cents, back at Clifton.
Their wearer kept his back to the lighted windows, so that his face was in partial shadow. He also kept taking sidelong glances up and down the curb, as if expecting some one.
Andy watched him for fully five minutes, made up his mind, and at last stealthily glided up behind him.
Seizing both the fellow's arms, he whirled him around face to face, let go of him, and with two quick movements of one hand tore the false moustache and the false goatee from his face. His surmises were correct. It was Jim Tapp.
The latter gave Andy a quick, startled glance.
"Wildwood!" he said, and switched his cane towards Andy's face.
"No, you don't!" cried Andy, grasping his arms again. "Jim Tapp, the circus people want you."
"Let go. Nobody wants me. I've done nothing."
"Call Benares Brothers, the stake your partner hit me with, the stolen mail bag, nothing?" demanded Andy. "You'll come along with me or I'll call the police."
Tapp glanced sharply about. So far nobody seemed to particularly notice them. He threw out his own arms and grasped Andy in turn. Thus interlocked, he threw out a foot. Andy was taken off his guard. He went toppling, but he never let go of his antagonist. Both landed with a crash on the board sidewalk.