“Stand still until I strike a match,” he said. “I want to have a good look at you.” “You don’t look like a very bad burglar,” he said after a close examination. “But you never can tell nowadays about burglars. Some of the best looking are the worst thieves. You come along with me.” “We’d better hurry,” said Larry, “or the two men might come back and catch me again.” “What two men?” Thereupon the boy told his story briefly. “Why, you astonish me!” the old gentlemen exclaimed. “To think that such things can go on in New York. I must write a letter to the papers about it to-morrow. Come along, young man. We’ll find a policeman at once and he’ll arrest the gang.” This was easier said than done, for the building where Larry had been held captive was in a lonely and unfrequented suburb of the city. The old gentleman, who seemed to have forgotten that Larry might possibly be a burglar, explained that he had been taking a long walk, as was his custom, when he espied the boy descending the ladder. The two walked on for some time, more than a mile, in fact, before they saw, standing under a solitary gas light, a policeman. CHAPTER XX BACK AT WORK “Here’s a case for you, officer!” exclaimed Mr. Randall, for the old gentleman had said that was his name. “What sort of a case?” asked the policeman, continuing to munch some peanuts, the shells of which were scattered about him. “A most extraordinary case!” “All cases are alike to me,” returned the blue coat calmly. “What is it?” “This boy is a burglar I just captured, only he isn’t a burglar at all, but he’s kidnapped and I saved him!” “What?” almost shouted the officer. “Are you crazy or am I?” “I guess you and all the policemen in New York must be, to have such goings-on,” said Mr. Randall. “This boy is kidnapped, I tell you.” “Kidnapped, is it?” murmured the officer; “wait a minute, I have some sort of a report about a kidnapped lad.” From his helmet the policeman drew out a paper. He began reading over a description of a number of missing persons whom the police had been asked, by their relatives, to help locate. Larry’s case having been reported by Mr. Newton, had, in the course of the routine, been related to every officer in the city, from their different station houses. “Here we are,” the policeman exclaimed. “Fox terrier, answers to the name--no, that’s about a lost dog. Oh, this is it--Larry Dexter, fifteen years old, rather tall, blue eyes, brown hair, etc.” “That’s me!” cried Larry. “How can I get home quickest?” “Come with me,” the officer said. He led the way through a number of streets, until they came to a lonely trolley car that had reached the end of its route. Into this the officer, Larry, and the old gentleman got, and soon they were under full speed. “I’ll take you to the station house, so I can make a report of you having been found,” said the officer, “and then you can go home. Well, this is a good piece of work.”