The man bending over the Italian’s chest straightened up suddenly at the noise of the opening door.
He was a man of rough appearance, and his left hand was missing. In place of it was an iron hook—for all the world like Captain Cuttle.
With a sharp intaking of his breath, the man with the hook faced the young detective. Bob, on his part, could not repress a gasp of surprise.
“Well!” snarled the man at last. “What do you want?”
“Who are you?” demanded the lad.
The two glared at each other in the dim light of the turned-down gas jet.
CHAPTER XIX
THE LAST CHORD
Bob Dexter had to do some quick thinking. He had not counted on finding any one in the Italian’s room, when he left the party to make a quick survey of the sordid apartment. That is all Bob wanted to do—to look about and either confirm or do away with certain suspicions that had entered his mind.
For he had begun to get suspicious of Pietro, in spite of the ingenuous ways of the smiling Italian, and the suspicions began when the man hired the bramble patch from Judge Weston, with the avowed purpose of planting food for the monkey.