A chase ensued. Thompson ran into the arms of an officer, who held him till the tall man came up.
"What's the charge?" asked the officer.
"He tried to play confidence on me. I'm a detective connected with Central office. Take him to headquarters, while I find the boy. You know me, officer. I'm Maccabe."
"I guess I ought to," answered the policeman.
"Curse the boy! Did he give me away?" asked Thompson.
"In the worst way, but without meaning it," was the answer.
"If I'd known he was such a fool, I'd never have traveled with him," growled Thompson, bestowing some choice oaths on Tommy, "and when I come out, after doing the time I suppose you'll give me, I'll have satisfaction out of his hide."
"Stop your chinning. You're my prisoner," said the officer, hauling him off to Mulberry Street.
Maccabe, the detective, who had assumed an innocent air and a rough sort of dress on purpose to throw thieves off their guard, looked around for Tommy. He was nowhere to be seen.
Tommy had done the most sensible thing he ever did in his life, which was to run away to the ferry and go home again, consequently the detective couldn't catch him. But the absence of Tommy did not save Thompson, who was sent to the island as a rogue and a vagabond for three months.