I was tangled up with the bumper of the car. I had to get a hand on it to pull myself up. Kleinsmidt grabbed me, spun me around, and said, “Oh!”
I said, “I’m sorry, Lieutenant,” and added with a flash of inspiration, “I tried to hold him for you.”
“You sure have guts,” he told me, and rubbed his jaw.
“What you want him for, Bill?” the man with the club asked.
“Slot-machine racket,” Kleinsmidt said, and then added as an afterthought, “Resisting an officer.”
“Well, we can get him.”
Kleinsmidt said to me, “Know where he lives?”
I brushed dirt off my clothes. “No.”
“Which way did he go?” Kleinsmidt asked.
Half a dozen people were eager to volunteer information. Kleinsmidt looked back at the car for a moment as though hesitating, then started out on foot, and took the other man with him. The little crowd went streaming along behind to see the fun.