"I want to straighten matters with the boys, and if they——"
Hazelton did not finish the sentence, for at that moment the canvas flap was pushed aside and a man entered with an unmistakable air of authority.
"Hold on there, friend," Mr. Sweet shouted. "We don't allow visitors at this time of night."
"I understand that, but reckon you won't make any very big kick when I tell you that I'm one of the deputy sheriffs of this county, and have come to serve a warrant."
"On whom?"
"Frank Hazelton, who claims to be an agent for a firm of jewelry manufacturers. I believe you're the man," he added, approaching the disfigured fakir.
"You've got that part of it straight enough, but what am I to be arrested for?"
"You are suspected of being concerned in the burglary which was committed in this town last night."
Hazelton did not express nearly as much surprise as the boys, who were really dazed by the announcement.
"So Hargreaves has finally succeeded," the fakir said half to himself, and the officer replied, quickly: