"Here!" said the Mayor, "my friend--my good fellow--you should not have brought the witnesses here. In all these doubtful cases--do you understand?--_I_ never receive a direct complaint. It must come through the Chief of Police. This one especially. He must call upon me officially to act!" "The chief!" exclaimed the Alderman, in dismay, "why Chester is one of his especial pets. It will never do to entrust the business with him." "Oh! have no fear. His duty forces him to present the complaint, when once entered, before him. Further than that, he has no power, no voice in the matter. It rests by law with the Mayor alone. He is judge--juror. He is _the law_ in these cases, you know." "Then you think we may venture the case with the chief?" said the Alderman, still doubtful. "He will do all in his power to save Chester, I am certain." "But he has no power! He has no right even to hear the evidence, unless I desire it. His interference is a mere form--but it has a good appearance--half these fellows know nothing about the law, and when we break them it casts some of the odium on him. It gives him an appearance of responsibility, but not a particle of power. Take your witnesses to the chief--to the chief, my dear fellow, and leave the rest to me--_to the law_." The Alderman rejoined his witnesses, and went to the chief's office. From that office, twenty-four hours after, was sent the letter which Chester received on the night of his birth-day. The day of trial came. Within the railing of the chief's office sat his honor, the Mayor, calmly shaving down the point of a pencil, which he tried from time to time on a sheet of paper that lay on the desk before him. At his elbow was the clerk, with a quire of foolscap neatly arranged, and holding a pen idly in his hand. In a little room back of the office sat the Chief of Police--his portly person filling the circumference of a comfortable office chair, and his jovial, good-humored countenance somewhat clouded with anxiety for the fate of the noble young man on trial, for he had learned both to love and respect the accused. His presence was evidently annoying to his honor, who dreaded the shrewd observation, the keen knowledge of men and things which would be brought to bear on the examination. He would rather have encountered the whole bar of New York, than the sharp, but apparently careless scrutiny of this one man. But there sat the chief just within the shadow of his private closet, the star of office glittering on his broad chest, linked to his garments by a chain of massive gold. The walls behind him were garnished with heavy oaken clubs, highly polished hand-cuffs and iron shackles, with various other grim insignia of his office.