“We-l-l,” Johnny said slowly. Go to the police? He had asked this old man in to help clear things up. It looked now as if they were more tangled than ever.
Their visit to the police station had the most astonishing results. When the think-o-graph of Wung Lu’s thoughts had been placed under the magnifying lens, the tiny mechanism started, and when the Chinese police interpreter was told to look into the microscope-like affair and watch the words go by, the result was most startling. At first he just stood there squinting into the glass. Then of a sudden he let out a wild howl and went dancing around the room as if he had been stung by a bee.
Johnny stopped the mechanism and waited. When at last the interpreter had regained proper control of himself, he stepped to his place once more. But not for long.
Leaping into the air he let out one more wild howl, began calling out all sorts of strange Oriental names and would have bolted out of the door had not Chief Gallagher blocked the door.
Seizing the interpreter by the arm, the Chief dragged him into his private office and closed the door.
For a full quarter of an hour only the low rumble of voices from the inner room disturbed the silence of the police station.
When the Chief and his interpreter returned the Chinaman appeared a shade paler, but seemed quite calm.
“Chief,” (Johnny had been thinking hard during that fifteen minute conference), “perhaps I should tell you, there’s a pair of Federal agents hanging around. I—I think they’re working on this.”
“As if I didn’t know!” the Chief exclaimed. “Fact is, we’re working with ’em hand in hand. That’s where I got a lot of my information. But Johnny!” His voice rumbled. “There’s no harm in givin’ the local police a break. Is there now?”
“Not a bit of harm.” Johnny grinned happily. He liked the Chief. Long years ago the Chief had saved him from a terrible beating by some older boys.