“You are on the verge of ruin. I have been sent here to arrest you. A detective is standing a few yards away. If you wish to avoid arrest, exposure and disgrace, run--run for your life.”
Arthur clutched convulsively at the grip in his right hand and gave a hurried look about him. His glance fell upon the short, stockily built man with the little twinkling eyes, who stood only a few yards distant. Some instinct seemed to tell Arthur that this was the detective, that this was the one man he should avoid. As quick as thought, he turned on his heel and made a dash in the opposite direction. The detective noting the movement, started to follow him; but Herbert shouldering his way against some people who were standing between them, got in front of the detective and completely blocked his way.
“Move aside,” said the officer angrily, “don’t you see that that fellow is getting away? Move aside, I tell you!”
By this time the crowd in the corridor had become so dense that it was almost impassable. It was quite evident that Arthur had made his escape and in all probability was now out of harm’s way. Herbert turned to the detective and said in a low tone:
“It’s the wrong fellow, old man; it’s all a mistake.”
The little twinkling eyes looked searchingly into Herbert’s face. What he saw there satisfied him. The pale face, the look of despair, the nervous manner were sufficient to indicate that the young man had just passed through a crisis. It would be useless to argue with him. The detective did not attempt it. He buttoned up his coat, pulled his hat down more firmly over his head, and walked away, muttering:
“Well, this is the queerest game I’ve ever been up against in all my career.”
After the detective left him, Herbert moved over to one of the big windows in the post office corridor, and leaning his elbows on the sill, stood there for some time musing upon the incidents that had just occurred. He recalled with a feeling of sadness Tomlin’s prophetic words: “An opportunity may come to you to do some big bit of work, and it will either break you or make you.”
The opportunity had come much quicker than he had anticipated, and unless all signs failed it would prove to be the cause of his undoing. He wondered in a numb sort of way how he was ever going to face Blakeley. He had started out on this assignment with a great display of enthusiasm. Indeed, now that he looked back upon it he had acted with considerable presumption. He had as good as boasted of the ease with which he intended to handle the case, and now it was all ended in an inglorious fizzle. The thought of a face to face encounter with Blakeley was decidedly chilling. Blakeley, while possessing many charming personal traits, was one of the hardest taskmasters in the office. Herbert shrank at the thought of going before him without the coveted story. He even contemplated the notion of not returning to the office at all; but this bit of cowardice was soon overcome as a thought not to be seriously considered for an instant. He would return to the office; he would face the music like a man; and he would take his medicine--no matter how bitter--without making any faces.