“Is the old getaway still working, Dan?” he asked quickly.
“Yes. You know where it is. It leads out on Murphy’s Alley.”
“Good! Follow me, and we’ll fool that bunch yet,” exclaimed Jake, darting to the rear of the stable, while Dan called out in a surprised voice: “Who’s there?”
“It’s the police. Open this door instantly, do you hear?” came a sharp voice on the outside.
“All right! all right!” and Dan shuffled toward the door; “What’s up? What do you want?” he demanded, as he opened it slowly.
“To search this stable of yours. Some suspected criminals have been traced here,” spoke up the leader of the police, a heavy-set man with a crisp moustache.
“Here?” exclaimed Dan, in well-simulated amazement; “criminals in my stable? You must be mistaken.”
“Oh no, we’re not, and this place is too well known for us to be fooled by you. Stand aside.” The man gave Dan a rough shove that sent him spinning to one side and entered the place, followed by the boys and his comrades of the force. But, as we know, the birds had flown. Not a trace of them could be found. The “getaway,” as Jake Rook called it, a secret door in the back of the place leading out on an alley, was too cunningly constructed even to catch their attention.
“There, what did I tell you?” grinned old Dan, when they had finished and found that they had “drawn a blank,” as huntsmen say. “It’s too bad to do anything like this. Why, if it got out, it would give me a bad reputation.”
“You precious old rascal,” exclaimed the detective, “as if you weren’t one of the worst characters in Boston, but too foxy to get into the toils of the law!”