Then followed a sharp grilling by the keen, astute Hemingway.
Dick and his chums told what they had heard Tip say before they
pounced upon him. Tip, who was a round-headed, short, square-shouldered
fellow of twenty-four, possessed more of the cunning of the prize
ring than the cleverness of the keen thief.
"I've been caught with the packages on me," he admitted, bluntly,
and with some show of bravado. "I guess I can't get outer delivering
'em."
"Then you stole that pin and the gold watch from the locker at
the High School?" demanded Hemingway, swiftly.
"Yep."
"How did you get into the locker room?" shot out Hemingway.
"Guess!" leered Tip, exhibiting some cheap bravado.
"Maybe I can find the answer in your clothes," retorted the plain
clothes man. "Stand still."
The search resulted in the finding of about ten dollars, a knife,
and three queer-looking implements that Hemingway instantly declared
to be pick-locks.
"You used these tools, and slipped the lock, did you?" asked Hemingway.
"Didn't have to," grinned Tip.
"Took an impression of the lock, then, and made a key, did you?"
"Right-o," drawled Tip.
"I'll look into your lodgings," muttered Hemingway. "Probably
I'll find you've got a good outfit for that kind of work. I remember
you used to work for a locksmith."
Tip, however, was not scared. He knew that there was nothing
at his lodgings to betray him.
"Then you used these picklocks to open Prescott's locked trunk with?"
was Hemingway's next question.
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