“My Lawd! What’s been a-happenin’?” he gasped. “We heered ructions an’ I got de police.”
“Police!” The last word penetrated Rodgers’ reeling senses, and his eyes sought the red coat sleeve which he still grasped.
“Yes; they’re at the do’ now,” as renewed pounding echoed through the place.
“Go and let them in,” commanded Rodgers; then, as the boy dashed down the hall, he staggered to his feet over to the small dumb-waiter shaft which was used to carry garbage cans, milk bottles and packages to the apartment. But one idea was uppermost—the police must not get Kitty’s red coat. He had just time to open the door and thrust the red coat down the chute and close the door again before two policemen appeared in the room. Stars were dancing before Rodgers’ eyes and he brushed his hand across his forehead. He must think—think— Should he have Potter arrested? No, he would settle the score between them without police aid. His hands clenched at the thought and he straightened up in spite of the increasing sense of faintness which caused his knees to sag under him.
“What’s happened?” demanded the foremost policeman. “Who attacked you?”
“A burglar, evidently,” replied Rodgers, sinking down in the nearest chair. “I walked in on him. He went that way—” indicating the fire-escape.
“Chase down and see if you can catch him, Mike,” ordered the first speaker. “I’ll search the apartment for any clues. Here—” observing Rodgers’ half-fainting condition—“Good Lord, he’s keeled over!”
An hour later Rodgers, his cuts treated by Dr. McLean, and finally left alone by a too-solicitous policeman, went down into the basement of the apartment house. He had no difficulty in locating the opening to the dumb-waiter shaft. Looking inside, he found it empty.
“What is it, Mr. Rodgers?” inquired the janitor’s wife, a young colored girl who acted as laundress for the tenants.
“I’m looking for a red coat which I accidentally dropped down the chute, Cora,” Rodgers explained.