“Be ready for him, Chief,” said Mr. Jones, “because he may be a desperate case.” The big officer produced his gun, and stood there in a position to immediately cage the thief as soon as the door was thrown open.
When Mr. Jones cast down the strip of timber that had been so deftly braced against the closed door so as to make it immovable, out walked a man. He was trying to appear as unconcerned as possible.
“What’s all this row mean?” he demanded. “I found my light overcoat a burden and was meaning to hang it in here and take the key with me when some prank-playing boy shut me in. I shall complain to the management of the Fair about such treatment to visitors.”
“Search him, and see if he has the money on his person!” ordered the Chief, who had been put in touch with the nature of the offense.
The man threatened all sorts of things in retaliation for such an “insult,” but in spite of his words Mr. Jones went through all his pockets. There was no result so far as disclosing any sign of the lost bills.
“Keep him there while I investigate inside,” said the big man. “On finding himself trapped, it would be his policy to hide the stuff somewhere.”
He vanished inside the clothes closet and was heard scratching a number of matches in order to have light. Presently he came out again. The crowd gave a shout as Mr. Jones held up a package of what seemed to be brand-new bank bills.
“See if that is your money, sir!” he told the excited poultry dealer, as he thrust the roll into his hands.
“Yes, yes, for here are the little red crosses I made, just as I told you!” exclaimed the other, in rapture.
“Count them!” continued the big man, as though invested with authority.