Part 7 (1/2)
”Right!” nodded Harry.
”They must all be members of the same gang of thieves, then,” flashed d.i.c.k. ”I've read in the newspapers that the thieves who work the Christmas trade generally go in gangs. By crackey! Did you see that?”
”Yes!” muttered Tom Reade excitedly.
”What?” questioned Greg.
”Why,” explained d.i.c.k, ”Mr. Slim put his hand in a woman's skirt pocket.
He slipped a wallet from her pocket to his.”
”That's what he did,” nodded Tom.
”Come along,” urged d.i.c.k. ”We'll see if we can come across a policeman before Mr. Slim gets all the money in the town.”
Falling in by twos the Grammar School boys, full of excitement, trailed after the slim, neatly dressed thief.
Two blocks lower down the boys ran across Policeman Whalen, who, in citizen's clothes, had been turned out to watch for thieves.
In an undertone d.i.c.k called attention to the slim fellow, who was still moving along in the moving crowds of shopping women. Whalen cautiously took up the trail, while d.i.c.k & Co. fell back somewhat.
Two minutes later Whalen made a sudden leap forward, seizing the suspected young man by the coat collar.
”Stand by, till I shake ye down!” roared the policeman, thras.h.i.+ng the thief about until the slim one's teeth chattered. A small morocco purse fell to the sidewalk.
”Why, that's mine!” cried a woman.
”I know it, ma'am. I saw this spalpeen take it from your pocket,” nodded Policeman Whalen. ”Come along with me, lad! And ye come, too, ma'am, and claim your pocketbook.”
”Oh, I'm so glad you saw him do it,” quivered the young woman, her face white from the shock caused by the thought of losing her Christmas money.
”I wouldn't have seen him do it,” admitted Whalen honestly, ”only d.i.c.k Prescott called my attention to the spalpeen.”
The prisoner, who realized that he could not twist himself away from the strong clutch of the policeman, scowled at d.i.c.k as the young woman thanked him.
A crowd formed in an instant, but Whalen broke up the excitement by starting promptly along with his captive.
d.i.c.k & Co. turned and followed a little way. The crowd that kept in the wake of the policeman was soon a dense one.
”You'll be sorry for this, youngster!” growled a low, angry voice just behind d.i.c.k.
Like a flash Prescott wheeled. It was not plain, however, who, in all that throng, had spoken to him. But d.i.c.k's roving gaze soon made out, several yards away, a man in brown, wearing a gray overcoat. The fellow was marching along with the throng as though he, too, were an idle spectator.
”That's the fit-thrower's other friend,” flashed through d.i.c.k's mind.
”He must have been the fellow who spoke behind me just now, too.”
”Oh, let's not go any further,” proposed Tom Reade. ”We've seen folks arrested before this.”
”Come along,” said d.i.c.k shortly, not caring to explain his reasons just at this moment.