“Mame dear,” she bade in oily tones, “fitch th’ bur-rd! fitch th’ bur’rd!”
The girl stared at her mother an instant, and then started towards a closed door.
Blue turned, and his gaze followed her eagerly.
In a moment it was over. The boy never knew just how it was done. But he had been caught in the back, and, his arms close pinioned, had been lifted and hurled into the hallway. As he sprang to his feet the lock clicked in the door, and there was coarse laughter. Realizing the trick, he set his teeth in helpless fury.
“I’ll make you pay for this!” he shouted. Then he shot down the stairs to the street.
On the sidewalk, passing the entrance, marched a big policeman. Blue’s face lighted in glad recognition.
“Mr. Fitzpatrick!” he called, “oh, Mr. Fitzpatrick!”
The tall man turned, and smiled cordially.
“Hello, Blue! What’s up?” For the boy’s face showed unusual excitement.
The story was jerkily told, but Thomas Fitzpatrick, with the aid of an occasional quiet question, soon had possession of the principal facts.