“What could be sweeter? Luck’s with us this morning, old pard!” He patted the freckled faced Irish youth on the back. “Got a case. All sewed up neat and tight.
“Get up!” he ordered. The man on the cobblestones stood up.
Drew Lane picked up the purse. At the same time he threw open his coat, revealing a star. It was the emblem of a city detective.
“You’ll get it back O.K.,” he said to Johnny. “Here’s ten till you do.” He pressed a bank note into Johnny’s hand. “Don’t mind coming along, do you? Need you for a witness. Been looking for these birds for six weeks. Now we got ’em; got ’em dead to rights!”
“Don’t mind a bit,” said Johnny.
“Come on, you!” Drew turned his prisoners about. “March! And make it snappy!”
“Name’s Lane,” he said to Johnny as they tramped along side by side, “Drew Lane. Glad I found you. You’ve helped us to a pretty good break. Fellow’s record depends on how many good clean arrests he makes.
“This is Tom Howe, my side-kicker.” He grinned as he put his hand on his freckled companion’s shoulder. “Detectives mostly work in pairs. We’ve been together a good long time. Lane and Howe. Lane and HOW! That’s the way they say it.” He chuckled. “Pretty good pals, even at that.”
A police car was called. It arrived. Lane followed one of the prisoners into a seat. Howe took the other. Johnny took his place by the door. They went rattling away toward the police station.
At the station the prisoners were allowed to call a lawyer on the phone, then were locked up.