"Wait a minute, officer," whined the fat man, in spite of his companion's attempt to stop him. "You want Jacob Pacomb. He's the man who got us into this mess."
"So you've turned stool pigeon, too, as well as crook?" drawled the detective, while Nan and Mr. Mason exchanged a triumphant look. "Yes, I reckon we do want Jacob Pacomb, too. We've been wanting him for a long while. But since this is the first chance we've had to get the goods on him, we won't waste any time doing it. Will one of you gentlemen call up the police station?"
Mr. Mason nodded, and the crowd opened to make way for him.
But at the mention of the police station, the fat man broke down completely and, evidently nursing some false hope that by telling all he knew he might get off easy himself, he babbled unceasingly until the police patrol drew up before the door. His companion stood off by himself, with apparently no interest whatever in the proceedings.
"Fine," said the detective, rising and patting the short man on the back as two policemen made their way into the lobby and saluted him. "Now you can tell the rest of your story to the judge. Will you come with us, sir?" he asked, turning to Mr. Mason as the policeman took the men in charge. "We may need your testimony to round up Jacob Pacomb."
Mr. Mason nodded, but paused for a moment on his way to the door to speak to Nan.
"Everything's fine," he said, beaming down upon her. "We'll get this Pacomb where we want him, and then your troubles—and Mrs. Bragley's—will be over, Nan. Tell you all about it when I get back."
Nan smiled back at him, and then as the crowd, its curiosity satisfied, began to disperse, she sank down into one of the comfortable chairs and looked weakly up at her excited chums. Then for the first time she noticed Walter—and the fact that he was holding her hand.
"Where did you get it?" she asked.
"What?"