Frank led Scotch to the window, and pointed to a wretched-looking beggar who was loafing along on the opposite side of the way.
“See there.”
“Eh? Well, sir?”
“That is the man!”
“Good gracious!”
Frank returned to his chair, and flung himself down.
“It is too much,” he said; “it is altogether too much! Did I commit a crime against the government by discovering that infernal machine? or what have I done? I can’t stand this business! Somebody will get damaged if it keeps on.”
“Easy, Frank, easy,” cautioned the professor, entreatingly. “Now, don’t get into trouble in London, I beg of you! You nearly lost your life in Paris, and we were forced to flee from Madrid and from Spain. It seems to me that we might get along in London without a repetition of those experiences.”
“Well, I am not going to be dogged around in this way much longer. If it continues, I shall go to Scotland Yard and make a complaint. It is altogether too much for me to endure.”
“Now, I beg you not to get mixed up with the police. London police are peculiar. They arrest you if you toss a scrap of paper from a cab window into the street. I know how you will talk if you go to Scotland Yard, and I’m sure you’ll get into trouble.”