“There is not, nor play neither,” snapped Phelan. “I’ve got to go out and chase up a drunk or throw a faint or git run over or somethin’ desperate to square mesilf with the captain. I’m an hour overdue at the station.”
“You’ll square yourself with the captain all right if you just do what I tell you,” said Gladwin eagerly, helping him on with his coat and pushing him toward the window recess. “You go right in there behind those curtains and wait till I call you.”
Phelan took one look at the young man’s face and muttered as he obeyed. “This must be a hell of a joke.”
And just then the thief breezed in again, jerking back on his heels as he caught sight of Gladwin sans uniform, sans moustache and sans eyebrows. But a glance at that young man meant volumes and there was no limit to his spontaneous resources. He summoned a laugh and jerked out:
“Oh, so you’ve resigned from the force?”
“Yes,” retorted Gladwin, “and let me tell you 217 that this little excursion of yours has gone far enough. I’ll give you one chance––get away from here as quickly as you can.”
The big fellow curled one corner of his lip in a contemptuous smile, then glanced about him quickly and asked:
“Where’s the young lady?”
“Never mind the young lady,” Gladwin flung back at him. “It was only on her account that I let you go as far as this. Now get out and keep away from that young lady––and drop my name.”
The sneering smile returned and balancing himself easily as he looked down on Gladwin, he said: