Larry turned on the two cops. “Why ain’t ye catchin’ the fellas that done this thing?” he demanded. “He’s told ye all he knows an’ he’s a dyin’ man this minut. I’ve to dress his head before he dies on me hands.” Then he reached into his pocket, brought out some bills, from which he selected two and presented one to each of the cops. “There now, come back in an hour if ye like. Maybe he can talk then,” and Larry darted out of the room. The two stood irresolute for a moment. One of them took out a notebook and wrote in it. And after a glance at each other they went out. I heard one of them talking to Larry for a moment and then the outside door closed on them. A moment later Larry came back with a basin of hot water and some cloths. While he was bandaging my head, I told him what had happened. The bullet had creased me—that is, it had grazed my skull under the skin for an inch or so and come out again. The wound was nothing that would not heal up in a day or two. But my news was very serious indeed, and Larry, who had taken a great liking to Moore, was full of indignation and threats of vengeance. However, we had little time allowed us for making plans for the future. I had just finished telling Larry of my fears concerning Miss Van Cleef as he pressed down the last bit of adhesive plaster on the back of my head. I sent him to call up her aunt’s house and find out whether the girl had returned or not. But before he reached it, the telephone bell rang. Larry answered, and after a word or two that I could not catch, came running in to me, his face long with apprehension. “Sure, sor, ’tis thot Captain Peters on the wire. He wants to speak to ye and says there’s not a minut to spare.” I hurried into my study and sitting down at my desk, took up the receiver. “Hello, Captain Peters. This is Clayton speaking.” “Hello, Clayton,” came the police officer’s gruff voice over the wire. “I’ve just heard that there was a row up at our friend’s place this afternoon and you got hurt. What happened?” “They got him,” I answered. “Got clear away with him as far as I know, and nearly got me. They know all about us.” “That’s bad—bad,” answered the captain. “But there’s worse to follow. You’ve got to get out of there at once, sir. At once. I just learned that there’s a charge against ye and they’re coming after ye to-night. Some matter of a burglary. Your card-case was found in the burgled house of a man named Vining. If they ever get ye in jail they’ll keep ye there, or maybe they’ll do ye in on the way. Better get out and lay low right away.” “But, great Scott, Captain, can’t you——” “I cannot, sir. I haven’t the power in any case, and they’re big, powerful men ye’re up against. Even the Chief could not save you from arrest once the warrant is issued. Better get out, sir.” “Well, then, can you get in touch with our Chief—Moore’s Chief—and tell him the news, Captain?” “I can that, sir, and I will!”