"I am not in the scrape. There is no scrape," replied my father, very much agitated, for he probably realized better than I did the nature of our proceedings.
"I will conduct you all to the police office, and we will look into the matter," said the official, as he took me upon one arm, and my father upon the other.
Lynch walked with the two gentlemen, one of whom, it appeared, was connected with the Metropolitan Police Department, which explained his interest in the affair. I heard him telling his story to them, and I had no doubt they were greatly edified by it. We arrived at the station, and were presented to a sergeant of police, who imposed upon himself the task of investigating the affair. Mr. Gray stated that he had found me holding Lynch upon the ground, while Farringford was looking into a pocket-book under the street lamp.
"What have you to say?" said the sergeant to Lynch.
"I was going across the levee to a steamboat, when this man and boy sprang upon me and knocked me down before I knew what they were about," replied Lynch. "They took from me my pocket-book, which contains over two hundred dollars, and my purse, with fifty or sixty dollars in it, mostly in gold."
"Do you know either of these parties?" asked the sergeant.
"I know Farringford—everybody knows him," replied Lynch. "I don't know the boy."
"I am sorry to see that Farringford has been reduced to anything of this sort," added Mr. Gray, glancing at the trembling inebriate.
"Gentlemen, I am willing to wait till this transaction can be investigated for the vindication of my character," replied Farringford, straightening himself up as much as his tottering limbs would permit.
"Give me your name, if you please," said the sergeant to Lynch.