The tramp lurched forward, peering into the dark interior of the car. Then, with a turn of his wrist, he jerked open the door, put one foot on the running-board, and suddenly flung himself upon the driver.
“Mr. Head-Hunter, I want you!” he hissed.
The words were hardly out of his mouth before something soft and wet struck him in the face—something that blinded and choked him, so that he let go his grip and fought and clawed like a dying man at the air. A push of the driver’s foot, and he was flung, breathless, to the side-walk, and the car sped on.
Jack Knebworth had witnessed the scene as far as it could be witnessed in the half-darkness, and came running across. A policeman appeared from nowhere, and together they lifted the tramp into a sitting position.
“I’ve seen this fellow before to-night,” said the policeman. “I warned him.”
And then the prostrate man drew a long, sighing breath, and his hands went up to his eyes.
“This is where I hand in my resignation,” he said, and Knebworth’s jaw dropped.
It was the voice of Michael Brixan!
CHAPTER XXXIV
THE SEARCH
“Yes, it’s me,” said Michael bitterly. “All right, officer, you needn’t wait. Jack, I’ll come up to the house to get this make-up off.”