The sergeant sat up with a start; so did the doorman, and so did everybody else in the place. There was the rattle of another carriage!
CHAPTER XXIV.
BACK AGAIN.
The sergeant had gotten over his anger, but he meant to be consistent, all the same. If this was another one of those “bloated aristocrats” he’d better look out for trouble, that was all.
The carriage drew up in the usual fashion, the sergeant seized his club. There was a flash of white shirt front and the sergeant made a leap for the door. The next moment he staggered back as if he had been shot. It was Millionaire No. 1, hatless and breathless, almost coatless and senseless, dragging in his wake—the captain of the precinct!
The sergeant saluted and gasped.
“I told you,” cried Millionaire No. 1.
“You’ve a prisoner here named Smith?” cried the captain.
“Er—yes,” stammered the sergeant.
“Send him here, quick!”