They shook their heads.
"No, it isn't he."
"I'm convinced that he's associated with the gang in some way."
"You haven't got anything on me," Blum persisted doggedly. "Perhaps I did pass some bad money in the village. What of it? If I did, I didn't know it was bad. I got it from some one else. It ain't my fault."
"If you're so innocent, why did you run from the detectives?"
"I had to catch a train."
"Tell that to the judge," advised Chief Collig roughly. "I think I'll lock you up for a while, my friend, and let you just think things over."
"Yeh, put him in the cooler," piped up Con Riley.
"I don't want any advice from you," said the chief, crushing his subordinate officer with a frown. "Here—put the cuffs on this bird and lock him up."
There was a jingle of handcuffs as they were clapped about Paul Blum's wrists. The man protested, but he was quickly silenced by the chief.
"We're going to keep you until the Secret Service men get here," said Fenton Hardy. "Perhaps they'll have more to tell."
Chief Collig and Constable Riley trudged
