Mr. Morton had several items of news, for the nurse had been arrested, and had made a full confession. If successful, the robbery was to have been the prelude for more in the same neighbourhood. It had been carefully planned by a gang of professional thieves. The pistol-shot had been fired by a confederate not only to inform the burglars that they had been discovered, but to decoy the police from the scene of action so that the thieves could make their escape.
"They did not count on your big stick, Jerry. Had it not been for you, every man of them would have gotten away."
"Sure they wouldn't, sir. Some of them would have been caught. But them p'lices are curious creeters. Now if I already had as many thieves on my hands as I could well look after, it never would have entered my head to go on a wild-goose chase after others. There's no accountin' for them p'lices' minds, anyway. And as for their bodies—well, did you ever see one that was not that fat that any thief at all couldn't outrun?"
Mr. Morton laughed. "I suppose they get them that way so they will stay where they are put."
"And so they can't run away from the thieves," added Jerry. "Now for all that I'm crooked, being thin, I'm nimble."
"Indeed you are; and furthermore, you have such good judgment that you saved the battle last night."
"I didn't mean that," cried Jerry, in distress and embarrassment. "Nobody could have done any less than I did."
"You mean any more, man. To my dying day I shall never forget what I owe you nor the sound of the whack of that stick. But, see here, Jerry, you are not going to the wharf to-day?"
"Please, sir, I have to."
"No, you don't. You are getting old, and ought not to work so hard. My wife and I have been making inquiries, and we know all about you and your sick wife. How would you like to be janitor in the building where I have my office?"