One thing perplexed me. Why was my visit to Chris Holtzmann considered of such importance that every possible means was taken to prevent it? Did this man possess the entire key to the situation? And were they afraid he could be bought up or threatened into a confession? It looked so.
"You are not from Chicago, young fellow?" said the policeman who had me in charge.
"No; I'm from the East."
"Humph! Got taken in short, didn't you?"
"I'm not guilty of any crime," I returned, "and you'll find it out when it comes to the examination."
"I'll chance it," replied the officer, grimly.
"That man is a fraud. If you call on the Manners Clothing Company, you will find it so."
"That's not part of my duty. I'll take you to the station house, and you can tell the judge your story," replied the policeman.
Yet I could see by the way his brow contracted that my assertion had had its effect upon him. Probably had he given the matter proper thought in the first place, he would have compelled John Stumpy to accompany him.
Still, this did me no good. Here I was being taken to the jail while the man who should have been under arrest was free. I would probably have to remain in confinement until the following morning, and in the meantime John Stumpy could call on Chris Holtzmann and arrange plans to suit himself.