“But those men!” exclaimed Joe. “They’ll get away!”
“We’ll have to take chances on that,” the professor whispered to him. “Maybe they’ll stay at the hotel all night. But you must take the deacon and the officer out of this. We’ll talk to them in my room.”
Joe saw the wisdom of this, and a little later he was facing the angry dealer and the constable.
“Now then,” began the professor, “what’s it all about?”
“It’s about this boy,” said the deacon, sternly. “He robbed me of considerable money. He robbed my wife, too, and set fire to the place, but I put it out. That’s what the matter is!”
“And I have a warrant for his arrest,” went on Hen Sylvester. “He is charged with robbery.”
“I never took a cent of yours, nor Mrs. Blackford’s either!” cried Joe, “and I don’t know anything about a fire. I did run away from your house, because I could stand it no longer.”
Then, in impassioned tones, he told the story of that eventful night—how he had caught the freight and met the professor. He spoke briefly of his work as a magician.
“What makes you think he robbed you?” asked the magician of the deacon.
“Why, I saw him leaving by the window, and right after that I missed the papers and the money.”