“No, my friend,” he added soberly, “I’m willing to take a chance. But when it is no longer a chance, when death becomes a grim certainty, I—I’m afraid you’d have to leave me out.”
The youth said not another word. They boarded a street car and went rattling back to the heart of the city. All the way the nameless one sat with chin on breast. The fire that was in his eyes appeared to have burned out.
And yet, as they left the car he exclaimed with renewed heat: “All the same, I am sure there is no other way!”
Johnny was to recall this statement long after, and marvel at it.
“Johnny,” the stranger said, as they stood at the parting of the ways, “Johnny,” his tone was very serious, “tell me about these two young detectives. Are they grandstand players?”
“Grandstand players!” Johnny’s tone showed his astonishment.
“Some one has said they are. I wouldn’t want—well, no matter what I wouldn’t want to do. But you know them. Tell me the truth.”
“Grandstand players!” Johnny was indignant. “If you were held up by a man whose criminal record for robbery and killing is as long as your arm; if you were off duty and armed only with a small pistol, while he had a regular cannon; if you tackled him alone in the dark, with no one to watch the play; if you fought him for ten minutes; if he got his gun to your head and pulled the trigger, but it failed to go off; if he bit you to the bone, fighting like a demon; if you won at last; if you got your man, would you call that grandstand stuff?”
“No,” said the boy solemnly, “I wouldn’t.”
“Drew Lane did that. And Tom Howe is not one inch behind him. If all the coppers in this town were as square and as fearless as Drew Lane and Tom Howe, this city would be clean.”