“But ’e’ll get away again.”
“I don’t think so. Sh!”
The man had reached the car now. Hurriedly he darted a glance at the house into which the dapper man had disappeared. Then he jumped into the car and started the engine.
“Quick!” exclaimed the constable.
But Crook still held back.
“We’ll lose ’im!” gasped the constable.
“Lose a distinctive car like that?” replied the detective. “Its description and number known? And the hue and cry already out?”
The situation was too much for the policeman, however. He raced out into the road, and shouted. The car was already in second gear. Now it glided into third, and was almost out of sight round a bend.
The constable roared with chagrin. For a moment he lost all his love for Detective Crook, and wrote him down an ass. Yes, they would probably catch the car, but would he, Constable T. Biggs, with aspirations, be in at the death? He groaned as he ran forward — and the next instant something hooted behind him.
“What’s happened?” cried a familiar voice.
It was Inspector Bracebridge, who had just driven up with his party. Constable Biggs turned, and waved wildly.
“Just gone on there!” he panted. “Give me the slip. But you’ll get him—”
The inspector’s car leaped forward. As it disappeared in pursuit, Constable Biggs turned and saw Detective Crook emerge from the shadows. The detective was smiling grimly.
The chase, in which neither Crook nor Constable Biggs took part, was not as short as it might have been, for the man who was driving the dark red car showed the dexterity both of experience and desperation.
He turned and twisted, dashed madly along straight roads, and dodged round corners at startling speed in his efforts to give his pursuers the slip.
But the young man who was driving the pursuing car was also an expert driver, and others soon joined in the chase. Shouts were raised, police whistles sounded, and the hunted man realized at last that his capture was unavoidable. Abruptly, he slowed down, and made no further effort to escape.
“Got you!” cried Bracebridge, as they reached him, and a crowd gathered round. “Do you want to say anything here, or will you come along?”
The captured man looked at the inspector, and at the crowd, and shrugged his shoulders.
“Oh, I’ll come along,” he muttered.
“Game’s up.”
“Yes, I’m afraid it is,” answered Bracebridge acidly, and suddenly looked at the prisoner more closely. “Hello! So it’s you, Alf!”
“It’s me,” admitted that gentleman.
“Not the first time you’ve been interested in taking cars that aren’t yours,” proceeded the inspector. “But I didn’t know jewelry was in your line.”
“Go on!” grunted Alf. “Who’s got any jewelry?”
He was caught, but the capture did not turn out to be as complete or as satisfactory as they had hoped. They could find no jewelry on him, nor could they discover it concealed in the car.
Alf solemnly denied that he had taken any, and watched their searching with cynical leers. Even when he was conveyed to the police station, and official pressure was brought to bear upon him, he maintained his jeering, unproductive attitude.
“Jewelry!” he scoffed. “There’s a silly idea. Oh, I’ve got a lot of jewels on me, I ’ave!”
“We’ll find them!” retorted Bracebridge, trying not to give way to exasperation. “Meanwhile, you don’t deny, I suppose, that you’ve tried to take a car that wasn’t yours?”
“Oh, I don’t deny that,” said Alf. “It looked so nice and ’andy. ’Course, if I’d seen any jewelry lyin’ about, I might ’ave taken that, too — but I didn’t ’appen to.”
“Not in Wheeler’s shop?”
“Where’s that?”
“We’ll have the jeweler himself along in a few minutes to identify you,” exclaimed the inspector crossly. “Meanwhile, here’s one constable who can do it. Is this the man who asked you the time, Brown?”
Constable Brown stepped forward.
“Same feller,” he announced. “And I told ’im to look at the clock.”
Alf gazed at the constable, and laughed.
“You think you’re clever, don’t you?” he observed. “What’s the funny idea? I never asked you the time.”
“Yes, you did,” asserted the constable. “Just before you went into the shop to steal the jewels.”
“Did I?” jeered Alf. “Then I must ’ave been a mug. You’re off your nut, cocky.”
“Do you deny that you entered the jeweler’s shop at all?” demanded the inspector.
“Course, I do!”
“Really? Well, here comes some one who may have something to say on that subject,” said the inspector, as Mr. Wheeler, goldsmith and silversmith, was announced.
There was a short pause between the announcing and the actual appearance of Mr. Wheeler. When the jeweler entered the room, he found twelve people rowed up in front of him. The inspector asked whether he recognized any of them.
“Of course, I do!” exclaimed the jeweler warmly. “I recognize the rascal who walked off with my jewelry! Thank God you’ve got him!” and he pointed accusingly to Alf.
“Quite sure of your man?” queried the inspector. “No doubt about him?”
“Quite sure. Absolutely!”
“It’s a mistake to be quite sure, absolutely,” observed a quiet voice, “unless you really are quite sure, absolutely.”
Detective Crook had entered, followed by Constable Biggs. The inspector wheeled round sharply, and the jeweler frowned indignantly.
“But I tell you I am sure!” he cried.
“Yes, there’s no doubt about it,” the inspector corroborated. “We’ve caught our man.”
“Well, that’s rather odd,” responded the detective, while Constable Biggs quietly smiled, “because I’ve caught him, too. And I’ve caught something else, as well.”
The inspector tugged his ample mustache, and looked puzzled. Constable Biggs’s smile grew. He was being in at the death, after all.
“May I put a few questions to the prisoner?” asked Crook, breaking a short silence.
“Carry on,” nodded the inspector. “I think I’d like you to, if it’s going to clear things up.”
“Thank you,” said Crook, and turned toward Alf. “I suppose you’ve told them a story they don’t believe?” Alf growled affirmatively. “What was the story?”
“Why, that I took the car, and nothing else,” replied Alf. “But they’ve got some lunatic idea that I went into a jeweler’s shop and carted off a bagful of diamonds.”
“And you deny that?”
“Course I do!”
“Why did you take the car?”
Alf considered for a moment.
“We all want a car these days, don’t we? This looked a nice one, and I thought it’d be cheap!”
“Car-stealing is a little habit of yours, isn’t it?”
“That’s my business.”
“Well, if it’s true, you needn’t deny it. You see, you’ve really got quite a reputation — among your friends as well as your enemies — and—” He paused. “I’m still waiting to hear how you came to take that car.”
“What do you mean?” demanded Alf. He now looked puzzled also.
“Was it entirely your own idea? Or did some one, who knew your little propensity, suggest it to you?”
Light began to dawn on Alf’s face.
“Well — one needn’t mention names, but some one did give me the tip,” he responded slowly. “He told me yesterday of a toff he knew, and gave me the time and place. He’d got wind of an appointment the toff was going to keep in a nice, quiet road—”
“And he acted the part of the toff himself,” interposed Crook. “It was he who drove up to the house outside which you found that car.”