The other laughed and then tried a bluff.
“Sure, I know your name!” he declared. “It’s Bill—good old Bill! Now come on!”
He had made a shot in the dark—in the dark in more ways than one. The chances were in his favor. Bill is a fairly common name, and many a “sport” answers to it even though he may be Tom, Dick or Harry. But again the spirit of perverseness took control of the victim.
“No ’tain’t!” he cried. “I ain’t Bill—never was—never will be. You guessed wrong—you’re no friend of mine. Now lemme be! I’m goin’ to find elephant. Tom’s my name—Tom Black, an’ I’m proud of it. Now lemme go!”
He shook off the hold of the other, and the man who had slipped out of the den of thieves stood irresolute for a moment. He was taken aback, but did not want to use too much force in getting his victim within his clutches. He must try another game, and still be gentle about it.
But at the mention of the name Tom Black the chief nudged Bob.
“Guess we’re on the wrong lay,” he said.
“Do you think he’d give his right name?” asked the lad.
“They generally do—in his condition. Of course he may be going under two names, but I don’t believe this is Rod Marbury.”
Bob had begun to think so from the moment he had seen how easy it was—that is comparatively easy—to pick up the trail of the suspect.