Then seeing the monkey and being deathly afraid of them, the circus girl threw the bottle at him and the rest of its contents spilled over the monkey, making him also a bright gold color.
On seeing this, Polly ha-ha’d with laughter but it was cut short when, happening to look down, she saw her own body slowly turning the same yellow the monkey’s was. On perceiving this she began to squeak and cry, “Murder, murder!” while the frightened circus girl called “Help, help!” and the monkey squealed as loudly as he could to add to the confusion. Of course all the racket brought the circus people running to the tent to see who was being mistreated. Nor did their cries attract only the circus people, but the outside spectators and policemen as well. The people stopped to listen and stare while the policemen made a run for the tent.
When the monkey saw the first policeman coming down the passageway with club upraised, he ran toward the screaming circus girl and tried to hide under her dress. This of course made her cry “Help! Murder!” louder than ever and she kicked so hard she upset the chair she was sitting on. When the policeman appeared in the door she was lying on the floor under the overturned chair, still screaming. The police thought someone must have knocked her down with the chair and, perceiving no one in the room, took it for granted they must have made their escape by crawling under the tent, so he too crawled under. At that moment he saw a man running away from the tent as fast as he could, so he called to the crowd, “Stop him! Stop him!” But too late—the man had cleared the crowd and was by this time running with long strides and arm raised like a professional runner.
Seeing this, the policeman took a long breath and started after the man, determined to overtake him if it took all day. He had run several blocks and was about winded and ready to drop when the man dodged into a yard, and went up the front steps, and into a house, slamming the door behind him without even turning around to see how near the policeman was on his trail.
When the policeman arrived at the house he tried the door but of course it was locked. He pounded on it with his club, calling out at the same time: “Open the door if you don’t want me to break it down!” He had raised his club to give it another fearful whack when it opened in a hurry and in the doorway stood a tall, dignified man dressed in the long black coat of a clergyman, who said in a low, impressive voice: “My good man, why all this racket? Why did you not ring the bell instead of pounding on my door?”
“Stand aside and let me pass or I will have you arrested for harboring thieves!”
As he said this a voice from the head of the stair said: “What is the trouble, father?”
“There he is now, the murderer!”
“Murderer! What do you mean by calling my son a murderer?”
The policeman did not reply but attempted to push by the clergyman with a rough hand.