“No. We’re after a man who escaped out this window. Did you see him?”
“Not here. I just came along a minute ago. Come down here and we’ll look for him.”
The Federal agent dropped from the window. He inspected one portion of the area beneath while the policeman searched in the other direction.
Their efforts were without success. The policeman looked up at the house with a quizzical stare.
“What’s going on in there?” he demanded.
“We’ve raided the place for counterfeit money,” explained the secret-service man. “We’ve caught Birch, who owns the place. He’s down the cellar.”
“I’d better look in on it,” said the policeman. “That’s more important than hunting for this fellow who got away from you. He’s gone.”
* * *
The Federal agent reluctantly agreed. The two men circled the house and entered the side door. They went to the cellar to find Birch, still protesting to his captors.
“I tell you I never saw them before,” shouted the pawnbroker, referring to the plates, which now lay on the floor. “You planted them there. That coal hasn’t been touched for two months.”