“Here.”
He motioned toward the men, who had followed closely on entering the station, whereupon the little man drew himself up stiffly, as if he imagined he must be six feet tall, at least; the bobbing man bobbed in a reckless manner, as if he had quite lost control of himself; the gallant man lifted his hat and mopped the shiny spot on the top of his head with a silk handkerchief, attempting to appear perfectly at ease; and the cock-eyed man made a desperate attempt to look the sergeant straight in the eye, but came no nearer than the upper corner of the station window, which was several yards away to the left.
“And where is the lady who makes the charge?” demanded the man behind the desk.
Where, indeed! It was time for her to appear, but all looked for her in vain.
“She must be here directly,” said the sergeant, “if she is coming at all.”
“Oh, she is coming!” hastily answered the officer.
“She may be waiting outside, hesitating about coming in,” said the sergeant. “You may go out and bring her in, Brandon.”
The policeman hesitated an instant, as if he feared to leave Frank.
“It is all right,” asserted the sergeant. “I will guarantee that Mr. Merriwell is quite safe.”
Then Brandon hurried out.