“Pretty good copy! What else?”
“He gave them the slip. They got in touch with me later. We set off on a hunt. Found the fellow in a barn. But he got out at the skylight window and made a run for it.”
“The poor devil! He deserved to get away after that,” remarked the editor.
“Pretty nearly did, too! One of the detectives winged him on the B. X. Road,” lied the Mayor. “He beat us to it for a time. I went home to bed after a bit, but I heard later that they fell in with their man looking for food in Chinatown in the early morning. He led them another chase up over the high road and down the Kickwillie Loop to the lake. He got into a rowing boat and made out into the middle of the water. The detectives got into Murray’s gasoline launch and were soon within hailing distance of him. But the beggar was game, although he must have been half-dead by that time.
“When he saw it was all up, he took off the coat, or sweater, or whatever it was he was wearing, wrapped it round the little anchor in the boat, undid the rope and plumped the lot into the lake.”
“What on earth did he do that for?” asked Pederstone.
“Oh, I guess he got the clothes from someone up here and didn’t wish to implicate them.”
“By gosh! but he was game,” put in Ben Todd. “Darned if I wouldn’t like a shake of his hand for that!”
The editor turned, and his expression changed. He raised his hat.