“Fritz Steinbeck,” the boy read aloud. “That may be the dark-haired fellow we caught first.”
“What are the other names?” Dave asked.
“Hans Schlitz, and Nicholas Schlitz. Sayee—” Brand stared. “They may be brothers.”
“And they are!” he exclaimed in a low, tense whisper ten seconds later. “Look! Here’s their picture together.” He held up a thin card.
“Look almost like twins,” Dave suggested.
“Nope,” Brand concluded after a second look. “The one we caught is the older of the two. I only hope,” his brow wrinkled, “that they get this fellow Nicholas. If they don’t—well—” he heaved a deep sigh. “His name may be Nicholas, but for us, if he harbors a grudge, as his brother surely does, he may prove to be Old Nick, the devil himself.” He did his best to suppress a shudder. “I’ll put this in my pocket.” He stowed the billfold away. “Turn it in at the airport tomorrow. Mother will be down tonight. I want to talk the affair over with her.
“Hey, you!” he called a moment later as a boy who could scarcely have been past sixteen put in an appearance. “You’ve got a gun.”
“That I have,” the boy grinned.
“Want a job?”
“That I do. I’m tired of tramping.”