“I’d give a whole lot to have that camera feller here right now,” he muttered. “Confound these fools for letting him get away! They’re a lot of boneheads!” This criticism of his subordinates was scarcely just, in view of the fact that the chief himself had led the squad of police which laid in wait for Hawley outside the Bulletin Building with the intention of placing that young man under arrest as soon as he stepped out of the newspaper office. Not having a warrant, they had not dared to force their way into the editorial rooms, so the chief and his men had stationed themselves outside, confident that sooner or later the Camera Chap must come out and fall into their clutches. But Carroll, suspecting this ambush, showed Hawley how to make his escape by means of a window at the rear of the building, and the Camera Chap was on his motor cycle, dashing up the steep road which led to his host’s mountain retreat, long before the police became aware of the fact that they had been outwitted. Chief Hodgins was, of course, as much to blame as any of his men for this fiasco; but as it was some relief to his feelings to abuse his subordinates for their “gross carelessness,” he did not hesitate to do so. The chief’s bump of logic and his sense of fairness were so underdeveloped that they were almost minute quantities. Just as he got through with his performance of savagely rending the offending copy of the _Bulletin_ into small pieces, the telephone on his desk rang. It was the voice of the mayor which came to him over the wire. The mayor’s name was Martin Henkle. He was a big, burly man, whose voice when he was angry was so gruff that in comparison Chief Hodgins’ manner of speech was sweetly melodious. By that token, his honor was exceedingly peeved now. “Is that you, Hodgins?” he growled over the wire. “Yes, Mr. Mayor,” was the meek reply. The head of the police department had turned very pale. Mayor Henkle’s wife was his second cousin, but in spite of this relationship he stood in great fear of his honor. “Huh! Seen this morning’s _Bulletin_ yet?” the latter inquired hoarsely. “Yes, sir, I have,” replied the chief, glaring at the fragments of paper on the floor. “And of all the dastardly outrages that ever---” “A fine spectacle you’ve made of yourself!” came the snarling interruption. “You big, fat-headed boob, I gave you credit for possessing a little more sense, or I’d never have appointed you. The whole town is laughing over those pictures. Everybody I met this morning on my way to the city hall was reading the _Bulletin_. You’ve made a laughingstock of my administration.”