"Mr. Haggerty, you are making a stupid mistake. You are losing time, besides. I am not the man for whom you are hunting. My name is Richard Comstalk."
"One name or another, it does not matter."
"Plenty of gall," murmured one of the minions of the law, whom I afterward learned was the chief of the village police.
"The card by which you gained admittance here," demanded the great Haggerty truculently.
I surrendered it. A crowd had by this time collected curiously about us. I could see the musicians on the stage peering over the plants.
"The thief you are looking for has gone," said I. "He escaped by the coal-window." By this statement, my feet sank deeper still.
"What did I tell you?" cried Haggerty, turning to his men. "They had an accomplice hidden in the cellars."
"I beg to inform you that you are making a mistake that will presently cost you dear,"—thinking of the political pull my uncle had in New York. "I am the nephew of Daniel Witherspoon."
"Worse and worse!" said the chief of police.
"We shall discuss the mistake later and at length. Of course you can easily explain how you came to impose upon these people,"—ironically. "Bah! the game is up. When you dropped that card in Friard's and said you were going to a masquerade, I knew your game in a minute, and laid eyes upon you for the first time since I began the chase. I've been after you for weeks. Your society dodge has worked out, and I'll land you behind the bars for some time to come, my gay boy. Come,"—roughly.