“Oh, I’m all right now,” declared Tom. “Only a bit tired out.”
“Call for a couple of plain-clothes men to stay here,” Mr. Pauling ordered, turning towards the heavy-jawed man. “Don’t want any one meddling with the instruments. Keep that trap shut and bolted and don’t sleep on the job.”
Then, to the surgeons, “Soon as he comes to and can talk, call me up. If he says anything, write it down. Don’t let any one—any one, mind you—speak with him.”
The surgeon nodded in assent and as the other man again went to the telephone Mr. Pauling and Rawlins half lifted Tom, and, accompanied by Frank, Henry and Mr. Henderson, the party left the workshop. Already the two policemen had left with their prisoner and were pressing through a curious crowd which had gathered outside and which was held in check by more stalwart, blue-coated men.
“Gosh! you’ve got the whole of the New York police here!” exclaimed Tom.
“Not quite that,” laughed his father, “but Henderson surely did call enough of them. Guess
they thought we were going to raid a liner.”
“Well, you didn’t name any limit,” replied Mr. Henderson chuckling. “You said ‘call the police’ and I called ’em. Might as well be on the safe side, you know.”
As Mr. Pauling helped Tom into Mr. Henderson’s car he saw the man whom Rawlins had captured in his spectacular battle under the river being shoved into a patrol wagon.
“Do tell me who he is,” begged Tom. “Is he a German spy?”