"Here's your watch, Brad, and your pocketbook. I nipped 'em just now to see if I'm in practice. Oh, yes, and your revolver, too." He laughed noiselessly as he laid the three articles on the footrest of the wagon and turned away. Braddock blinked his eyes. As he replaced the articles in their places, he said admiringly: "Well, you do beat the devil!" When he turned, the pickpocket was nowhere to be seen. It was as if the earth had swallowed him. Five minutes later Dick appeared quite mysteriously in the dressing-tent, coming from the skies, it seemed to David, who found him filling a space that had been absolutely empty when he stooped over an instant before to adjust his shoe-lacing. "Hello, kid," said Dick easily. "Say, do you know there's a warrant for your arrest right now in the hands of the town marshal of this burg?" David's heart almost stopped beating. "How do you know?" he demanded. "I just piped him and a Pinkerton guy I know by sight hunting up Braddock. Not three minutes ago. They were talking it over between 'em out there by the road. The detective's got a picture of you, he says. Somehow they've dropped on to it that the new clown is you. Evening, Mrs. Braddock." The proprietor's wife came up, followed closely by Christine and Ruby, dressed for the street. In an instant David repeated the startling news. "What is to be done?" cried Mrs. Braddock, aghast. "They sha'n't take you, David," cried Christine. "Where is my father?" fell from Ruby's frightened lips. "Not a second to be lost," said Dick. "I've got a scheme. Come in here, kid, and let me get into the tights you've got on. Tell Joey, and put the rest of the crowd on to the game," he added to Ruby. When the town marshal and the detective deliberately stalked into the dressing-tent a few minutes later, a nonchalant group of performers greeted them, apparently without interest. The new clown was partly dressed, but he had not washed the bismuth and carmine from his lean face. Braddock, perspiring freely, came in behind the officers. He saw in a glance what had transpired. His cigar almost dropped from his lips. "We want you," said the marshal, pushed forward by the detective. The new clown looked up, amazed, as the hand fell on his shoulder. "No trouble now," added the local officer, nervously glancing around him. He knew the perils attending the arrest of a circus performer in his own domain. "What's the matter with you?" exclaimed Dick Cronk, jerking his arm away. "I want you, David Jenison, for murder in--" There was a roar of laughter from the assembled crowd of performers. "Come off!" grinned Dick Cronk. "You're off your base, you rube. Let go my arm!" "None of that now," said the detective. "I've got your picture here. The jig's up, young feller. It's no--" "My picture?" ejaculated Dick in surprise. "Let's have a look at it. I never had my picture taken in my life."