Dante Venoti looked at him in open-mouthed astonishment. “Vatevaire do you mean?” he gasped. “I am under arrest? Has ze law stop ze production? Chambers, Chambers,” he called over his shoulder, “come here queek. Ze police has stop’ ze production!”
A tall, lanky, decidedly American looking individual appeared in the doorway behind him. “What the deuce!” he exclaimed, at the sight of all the men on the porch. At this moment the second automobile drove up, followed by a third and a fourth. A large number of men and women dismounted and ran up the path to the house.
“Caruthers! Simpson! Jimmy!” shouted Venoti, excitedly to the latest arrivals, “ze police has stop ze production!”
“What do you know about it!” exclaimed someone in the crowd of newcomers, evidently one of those addressed. “Where’s Belle?”
“She is bringing zeze caboose! Up ze rivaire!” cried the black haired man, wringing his hands in distress.
The plain clothes men looked over the band of people that stood around him. There was nothing about them to indicate their desperate character. Instead of being Italians as they had expected, they seemed to be mostly Americans. The leader of the policemen suddenly looked hard at Venoti. “Say,” he said, “you look like a Dago, but you don’t talk like one. Who are you, anyway?”
“I am Felix Larue,” said the black haired man, “I am ze director of ze Great Western Film Company, and zeze are all my actors. We have rent zis house and farm for ze production of ze war play ‘Ze Honor of a Soldier.’ Last night we bring some of ze properties to ze house; zey are very valuable, and Chambers and Bushbower here zey stay in ze house wiz zem.”
The plain clothes men looked at each other and started to grin. Migwan and Gladys, who had joined the company on the porch, suddenly felt unutterably foolish. “But what were you doing on top of the pole?” faltered Migwan.
Mr. Larue turned his eyes toward her. He recognized her as the girl who had allowed him to use her telephone the day before, and favored her with a polite bow. “Me,” he said, “I play ze part of ze spy in ze piece—ze villain. I tap ze wire and get ze message. I was practice for ze part zis morning.” He turned beseechingly to the policeman who had questioned him. “Zen you will not stop ze production?” he asked.
“Heavens, no,” answered the policeman. “We were going to arrest you for an anarchist, that’s all.”