“Drop that lady’s arm,” the brawny bluecoat ordered, and Whiting turned in startled surprise and fury.
“What do you want here?” he bluffed. “This is my house,—get out!”
“Not so fast, Whiting,” said Coley Coe, as Elsie flew to Joe Allison’s protecting arms.
“Arrest him,” Coe went on. “On the charge of abduction and theft and housebreaking, and—oh, lots of other things! Anything to say, Whiting?”
“No, except that you’ll pay for this. I tell you, this is my house and you’ve no right here!”
“Stuff and nonsense!” commented Coe. “But how do you make out it’s your house?”
“I’ve rented it,—sublet it from the owners—”
“Who are away for the summer! Oh, yes—I see! I especially see! And,—ahem,—just when did you take the house over?”
“Long ago, I’ve had it for months. I tell you it’s mine!”
“Sure it is! I don’t dispute you. And you rented it before the sixth of April, didn’t you? And you’ve used it ever since as a—”