Had Colonel Grand's detectives swooped down upon Tom Braddock? Was
Christine's father already in jail? Was Grand in a position to hold a
new club over the heads of the two women? Were the newspapers
preparing to revel in the great story--
He was in the midst of these direful questions when some one tapped
him lightly on the shoulder from behind. He turned and glanced upward,
his nerves a-tingle.
"Dick!" he exclaimed, leaping to his feet.
"Sit down!" commanded the pickpocket warily.
David dropped to the bench, his eyes fastened on the white, drawn face
of the pickpocket. A thick, white bandage was wrapped around his
forehead, partially hidden by the slouch hat he wore. The man seemed
faint and unsteady on his feet.
"I say, Dick," cried David," what has happened? You are hurt. Who--"
With a rigid grin Dick put his hand to his head.
"Braddock," he said succinctly.
"You don't mean--Tell me what has happened? Wait! Do you require the
attention of a surgeon?"
"Sit still, kid. I'm all right. You might pass me a quarter or
something, just to make people think I'm boning you for a breakfast.
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