Chapter XXII. About Some Mining Shares

"How do you do, Mr. Ball?" said our hero, coolly.

"Eh, what's that?" questioned Malone, in amazement. Then he recognized Joe, and his face fell.

"I have often wondered what became of you," went on our hero. "Let me help you up."

"I--that is--who are you, boy?" demanded Malone, getting to his feet and picking up his hat and his bundle.

"You ought to remember me. I am Joe Bodley. I used to work for Mr. Mallison, at Riverside."

"Don't know the man or the place," said Pat Malone, coolly. "You have made a mistake."

"Then perhaps I had better call you Malone."

"Not at all. My name is Fry--John Fry."

"How often do you change your name, Mr. Fry."

"Don't get impudent!"

"I am not impudent,--I am only asking a plain question."

"I never change my name."

At that moment Joe saw a policeman on the opposite side of the street and beckoned for the officer to come over.

"Hi! what's the meaning of this!" ejaculated Pat Malone.

"Officer, I want this man locked up," said Joe, and caught the rascal by the arm, that he might not run away.

"What's the charge?" asked the bluecoat.

"He is wanted for swindling."

"Boy, are you really crazy?"

"No, I am not."

"Who are you?" asked the policeman, eyeing Joe sharply.

"My name is Joe Bodley. I work at the Grandon House. I will make a charge against this man, and I'll bring the man who was swindled, too."

"That's fair talk," said the policeman. "I guess you'll both have to go to the station with me."

"I'm willing," said Joe, promptly.

"I--I cannot go--I have a sick wife--I must get a doctor," stammered Pat Malone. "Let me go. The boy is mistaken."

"You'll have to go with me."

"But my sick wife?"

"You can send for your friends and they can take care of her."

"I have no friends--we are strangers in Philadelphia. I don't want to go."

Pat Malone tried to move on, but the policeman and Joe detained him, and in the end he was marched off to the police station. Here Joe told what he knew and Malone's record was looked up in the Rogues' Gallery.

"You've got the right man, that's sure," said the desk sergeant to our hero. "Now where can you find this Mr. Maurice Vane?"

"I have his address at the hotel," answered our hero. "If I can go I'll get it and send Mr. Vane a telegram."

"Bring the address here and we'll communicate with Mr. Vane."