New England -- Juvenile fiction; Sailing -- Juvenile fiction; Sea stories
The robber, having uttered a stifled cry of alarm at the instant of the
unexpected attack, was now thrashing mightily about on the thick rug.
"Help!" he shouted. "Who are you? Let me go!"
"S-sh!" commanded Perry sternly, as the others plunged to his aid,
overturning a chair on the way. "Be quiet! Sit on his legs, Ossie!"
Perry was astride the man's chest, holding his arms to the floor. "Punch
him if he makes a noise, Wink!" Perry, breathing hard, surveyed his
captive in triumph. "Now then," he asked, "what have you got to say for
yourself? What were you doing at that safe?"
The man glared in silence for an instant. To Wink it seemed that the
emotion exhibited on the robber's countenance was amazement rather than
fear.
"Come on," urged Perry. "What's the game?"
"Game!" choked the man, finding his voice at last. "Game? You--you young
ruffians! You--"
"Cut that out, or I'll hand you something," growled Wink. "Answer
politely."
"Let me up!"
"Nothing doing!" answered Perry. "Come across. What's your name and
where do you come from? As you didn't get anything out of there, maybe
we'll be easy with you if you talk quick."
"Let me suggest, if I may," said the man in a strangely quiet and
restrained tone, "that you get off my stomach. This conversation can
just as well be conducted under more comfortable conditions."
Perry blinked and Wink viewed the captive doubtfully.
"Promise not to try to run?" demanded Perry.
"I have no intention of running, thanks." The robber carefully dusted
his clothes as he arose and then felt anxiously of a bruised elbow.
"Now, if you will inform me what this--this murderous assault means I
shall be greatly obliged to you."
"Suppose you tell us what you were doing at that safe?" said Perry
sternly.
"Is that any of your business?" asked the other. It was evident that he
was losing his temper again, and Wink drew a step nearer. "I presume I
have a perfect right to open my own safe! What I wish to know--"
"Your own safe!" gasped Perry. "Oh, come now, you needn't try to tell us
that you--you live here. You're a cracksman, my friend, that's what you
are--"
Ossie tugged at Perry's sleeve, but Perry failed to notice it.
"One look at that face of yours is enough, old top," continued Perry.
"It's got crook written all over it!"
"It has, has it?" gasped the man. "Let me tell you that my name is
Drummond, sir, and that this is my house, and that is my safe, and--and
if you'll mind your own business--"
"What!" asked Perry weakly. "You mean that you--that this--you mean
that--"
"I mean," interrupted the man angrily, "that I was about to deposit some
money in that safe, some money I'd been carrying around in my pocket all
the evening and feared I might lose, when you--you young thugs set on me
and knocked me down! Knocked me down right in my own house, on my own
hearth-rug! Why, you--you--"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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