Rex, hearing no further sound to tell him that a dangerous runaway was close upon him, had just decided to slacken his pace and turn around to investigate, when he felt a hand laid on his shoulder.
“Me got you,” crowed a wheezy voice in his ear. “Now for pleecy man.”
Rex was horrified to find himself in the grasp of a Chinese laundryman.
“Let go of me! What do you want?” he cried, struggling to get free.
“You breakee glass. You go to jailee. Here pleecyman now.”
True enough, among the crowd that had hastily collected, was a blue-coated officer.
“Make him let me go,” exclaimed Rex, appealing to the representative of the law. “I didn’t do anything to him.”
“Yes, he did,” called out a bystander, whose sympathies had been awakened for the much suffering heathen. “I saw him running for all he was worth. That’s pretty strong evidence, isn’t it?”
The policeman appeared to think so, for he came up and caught Rex by the arm.