“Hello, chief!” he cried, as he saw his employer. “Can’t you get me out of this?”
But he was already free. No sooner had the officer holding him seen the look of recognition on the detective’s face than he released his hold of the prisoner’s elbow.
“What’s this mean, Chick?” asked his chief.
“Search me!” laughed Chick. “One of the men grabbed me because he found me in the house, just coming out of the yard door, to take a hand in the raid with you.”
“The officer said he was drunk!” growled Lieutenant Brockton rather defiantly. “I suppose there must have been some reason for his making that statement.”
“I reckon there was,” conceded Chick. “I had been baked behind a stove where they were making silver dollars and halves, and what with the heat and the fumes of charcoal and hot metal, I was nearly a goner. Then I had a scrap with the officer, and——”
“If you’d been in such a place as that, behind a stove, it probably made you dizzy, didn’t it, Chick?”
It was Nick who asked the question, and, as he did so, he looked scornfully at Lieutenant Brockton.
“Well, what do you think, chief?” was Chick’s response. “I don’t mind saying that if I seemed a drunk, I don’t blame the officer. I dare say, if I had been in his place, I should have made the same mistake.”
“I’m sure you would,” threw in the lieutenant. “When you came in, you looked as if you had one of the worst souses that ever came into this station. But I am very sorry the mistake occurred.”