"
"Stop kidding me!" commanded the other sternly. "And now back
to you cosy little bed for you! Fade! Vanish! If you don't
then you'll soon wish you had!"
But Dick held his ground, despite the very evident sincerity of
the other's threat, and gazed unflinchingly back at the prowler.
"Let me tell you," Dick went on. "Of course I cannot be positive,
but there is a missing heir who has, on his chest and one shoulderblade
just such marks as I saw on you to-day when you were sitting by
the pool putting on your shirt?"
"Oh, forget that thrilling stuff!" jeered the other. "Don't you
suppose I know who my father is? Old Bill Mosher hasn't suddenly
grown rich. How could Bill get rich when he is in jail for drunkenness?"
"So you think your name is Mosher?" pursued Prescott.
"I know it is," replied the prowler harshly. "And, around this
neck of the woods a fellow couldn't have a harder, tougher name
than Mosher."
"But if your name were really Page-----" pressed Dick.
"No use stringing me like that," snapped the other. Even in the
darkness, lit only here and there by starlight, the scowl on his
face was visible. "Tell you what," declared Mosher, an instant
later.
"Well?"
"Beat it!"
"I don't under------"
"Yes, you do," retorted the self-styled Mosher.
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