“How long before you’ll make the raid?” asked Joe.
“In about half an hour, I guess,” replied Regan. “Why, are you going to stick around and see it?”
“I might. But there’s a friend of mine in there,” spoke Joe, “and I wouldn’t like him to get arrested.”
“A friend of yours?” repeated Regan, wonderingly.
“Yes. Oh, he’s not a hobo, though he once was, I’m afraid. But he’s reformed. Only to-night, however, he went out with one of his old companions. I don’t know what for. But I saw him go in there, and that’s why I’m here. I’m waiting for him to come out.”
“Then the sooner he does the better,” observed Farley, grimly. “It’s a bad place.”
“Look here,” said Joe, eagerly, “could you do me a favor, Mr. Regan?”
“Anything in reason, Joe.”
“Could you go in there and warn my friend to get out. I could easily describe him to you. In fact, I guess you must know him—Pop Dutton.”
“Is Old Pop in there?” demanded the officer, in surprise.