Beside, I knew if they even suspected me my life was scarce worth a rush. I forced myself--absolutely forced myself--not to be afraid.
“Is it much further, Red?” I asked in my best “tough” dialect.
“Only a little way,” he answered. “Do you see that house right by the river bank?”
“The woods,” was a little clump of locust trees, once a shady grove in some gentleman’s grounds in the days when the house would have been called a mansion.
“Well, we get into the sewer through that house by way of de cellar,” answered Red. “We’ve got a underground passage cut jist like you read about in dime novels. Oh, I tell you it’s bully! We’ve got feather beds and eat off chiny dishes. We only take our beer out of silver mugs----”
“You lie,” broke in Schnitz laughing; “we keep our beer in silver kegs and drink it outer gold steins.”
“You’re fooling me, boys,” said I, in dismay, an icy coldness striking around my heart.
“Not much, you son of a gun!” cried Red. “It’s you who are trying to fool us. Hey fellers! Here we are! Let’s initiate Detective Kean!”
Can you fancy my feelings at that moment?
If you can’t try and fancy them at the next, when I suddenly found myself surrounded by twenty or thirty of the toughest-looking specimens I ever laid my eyes on.
We had reached the grove now, and a man seemed to spring from behind every tree.
I saw that my midnight mission was already accomplished.
It was no use to attempt to defend myself.
They were around me like a pack of wolves in an instant, a dozen hands held me, a dozen more were going through my clothes, possessing themselves of revolvers, knives, money--everything, even to my official shield, which, like a fool, I had loose in my trousers’ pocket.
If ever I felt sick it was then, but I had hope.
The voice which talked to me through the lumber yard fence was Old King Brady’s.
He ought to be on hand with a posse of police even now.
“Oh, you needn’t look for your friends,” cried Red McCann sneeringly. “We seen you talking with them down by the lumber yard. We’ve fixed all that--we’ve given ’em the proper steer.
“Hey fellers!” he added, “this is the bloke what tought he was goin’ ter ring in wid us. What’ll we do wid him! It’s for you to say.”
“Punch him! Slug him! Shoot him! Drown him?”