"Two detectives are coming down the alley," he panted. "Beat it over that way and then you'll _sure_ not run into one of them because they've got--got--a lot of strat--strat--strat--strat--egy--they have--you'd better hurry up." The time it required for the group to disperse can not be indicated by any word in the English language. They were there and then they were _not_ there. As Pee-wee stood amid scattered coins and dice he was conscious of distant forms scaling fences, wriggling through holes, and of one pair of legs disappearing majestically over a dilapidated roof. As a disorderly retreat it was a masterpiece. It was not in Pee-wee's nature to run from anything or anybody. So there he stood amid the telltale mementoes of the dreadful game while Detectives Slippett and Spotson strolled into the field. They were just in time to behold a fleeting vision of forms wriggling through fences, gliding around buildings, and scrambling over roof tops. County Detective Spotson was quick to sense the situation. Taking Pee-wee roughly by the shoulder he demanded in that sophisticated voice and manner which all detectives acquire and which sometimes passes for shrewdness, "What's the big idea, huh? Tipped them off, did you? Well, you're a very clever kid, ain't you?" He removed his big hand from Pee-wee's shoulder and injected his fingers down the back of the boy's neck, grabbing him by the collar and gathering it so that it almost choked him. This terrifying grip, which is always intended to be considered as the preliminary of arrest, did not frighten Pee-wee as it would have frightened Keekie Joe, but it touched his pride and enraged him, and he wriggled frantically. There is no indignity which can be put upon a boy like this bullying, official grip of his collar. "You let me go," he said excitedly; "I wasn't playing here and you didn't see me do anything wrong; you let me go, do you hear!" His utter helplessness, despite every contortion, to free himself from this degrading kind of grasp, drove him distracted and he kicked with all his might and main. "_You let me go, do you hear!_" he shouted. "Well, what were you doing here then, huh?" the officer asked gruffly. "Yer gave'm the tip, didn't yer?" "You let go, I'm not going to run away," Pee-wee said. "Do you think I'm scared of you? You let me go!" "Do yer know what an accessory is?" Detective Spotson demanded, loosening his grip somewhat. "It's something you buy to put on an automobile," Pee-wee said. "You let go, I'm not going to run." Detective Spotson, like Keekie Joe, trusted nobody. But since he had no intention of arresting Pee-wee and since the diminutive captive seemed rather angered than frightened, he released his hold. By a series of wriggles and contortions, Pee-wee adjusted his clothing and settled his neck in his stretched neckband. "Why don't--why--why don't you take a--a--a feller your size?" he half cried and half panted.