Andy could scarcely understand it. Surely, he thought, there must be some mistake. He was glad there was not a crowd of students about to witness the humiliation of Link—a humiliation none the less acute if the charge was groundless.
“Wait a minute—hold on!” exclaimed Andy, sharply, and there was something in his voice that caused the detective to pause.
“Well, what is it?” the officer growled. “I haven’t any time to waste.”
“Do you really want him on a robbery charge?” asked Andy.
“I do—if his name is Link Bardon,” was the cool answer. “I guess he won’t attempt to deny it. I’ve been on his trail for some time.”
“That’s my name, sure enough—I have no reason to deny it,” said Link, who had turned pale. His eyes had traces of tears in them. After all, he was not much older than Andy and he was a gentle sort of youth, unused to the rough ways of the world.
“I thought I was right,” the detective went on. “I’ve been watching for you. Now the question is—are you coming along quietly, or shall I have any trouble?”
“I won’t give you any trouble—certainly not,” protested Link. “But this is all a mistake! I haven’t taken a thing! You know I wouldn’t steal, don’t you, Mr. Blair?”
“I certainly believe it, Link, and I’ll do all I can to help you. What are you going to do with him?” he asked the detective.
“Lock him up—what do you suppose?”