“Right here in the city,” and Rex gave the address.
“That’s not far,” said the officer. “We’ll go round there and see if you have told us a straight story. Come along, John,” he added to the laundryman.
Rex glowed with a sense of triumph for a minute, and then began to reflect on what Syd would say at seeing him appear in such company—with a police officer and a Chinaman. And there was the crowd that strung on behind as the three moved off!
“I wish I’d stayed at home,” groaned poor Rex to himself.
However, he tried to take some comfort from the fact that the policeman’s arm was not on his shoulder. People they passed might think it was the Chinaman who was under arrest. Then he felt that he ought to be glad that it was midsummer, with no chance of his meeting any of his friends.
He was trying to decide what he should do in case Syd had not come back by the time they reached the office, when just as they turned into Chestnut Street a familiar voice cried out:
“Hello, Rex, what under the sun?”
It was Scott Bowman. He had just come out of a trunk store in time to confront the sorry procession.
Rex wished the manhole cover over which he was passing would suddenly give way and precipitate him under the sidewalk in theatrical trap door fashion. Scott was the last person in all the world whom he wished to see.
“Don’t you come near me, Scott,” he answered, “if you don’t want to be disgraced. I’m under arrest.”