“You don’t know Perry Bellwood?” he gasped. “Perry Bellwood, the banker!”
“Never saw him,” retorted the sergeant.
“And you won’t release my nephew?”
“No, sir. I won’t release your nephew!” roared the officer, hammering on his desk for emphasis. “I wouldn’t release him for you or any other banker in New York, or the whole crowd of them together. Do you hear that? I’d like to know what you think a police sergeant is, anyhow. A nice state of affairs it would be if I had to set loose every burglar and murderer in prison because of some man who thinks he owns the earth because he is a banker.”
The sergeant was red in the face from anger as he finished this pointed declaration. Mr. Bellwood was pacing up and down the room furiously. He turned upon the man suddenly when he finished.
“I’ll bet you all I own,” he said, “that you’ll do as I say, and in an hour, too.”
“And I’ll bet you my job I don’t,” snapped the sergeant. “I’ll see who’s running this place——”
By that time the outraged banker had made a dash for his carriage. The outraged sergeant planked himself down on his chair and gazed about him indignantly.
“The very idea!” vowed he. “The very idea! That fellow talked to me as if he were the mayor. I’d a good mind to lock him up. I wouldn’t let those burglars loose now for all Fifth Avenue.”
He was given a chance to prove that last assertion of his, a good deal more of a chance than he expected when he made it. He had hardly gotten the words out of his mouth, and the rattle of the carriage had not yet died away before another one dashed up to the door.