The officer glanced at his watch. “My own time is up,” he said. “I’ll walk up with you.”
“Take your time an’ get your breath back,” he added presently. “He is safe enough; ’twas Larry O’Flannagan had him by the shoulder, an’ no man ever yet broke from Larry’s grip when he once got a good grip on ’im. He’s safe enough.”
Safe enough he certainly was, and an hour later he stood face to face with the father of the Hadley children.
“You’ve made a mistake,” he repeated. “You’ve made a mistake. My name is not Pearson. My name is Franks, John Franks. I never lived in the Port; never was across the line into Mexico at all, in fact. No, I never saw you before, not to my knowledge at least.”
He said it all over again stubbornly, and, with dark and scowling face, he declared that Mr. Hadley would be sorry for this trouble he was making him, and he wanted it understood most emphatically that he had never been in Mexico six years ago or at any other time and that his name was John Franks.
But Mr. Hadley knew he was not mistaken, he knew the man was Pearson, and he would not back down or give one hair’s breadth, and under his steady, stern gaze Pearson suddenly threw up the game with a vehement burst of profanity, winding up with the inquiry as to what earthly difference it made to Hadley about the launch, anyhow?
Mr. Hadley stared at him a moment.
“WHAT DID YOU DO WITH MY CHILDREN?”
“Launch!” he said slowly,—“launch! What do you suppose I care about the launch? What I want to know is, what did you do with my children?”