“I’ll do just that,” was the prompt response.
As anticipated by the motion picture chums and their friends, the throngs that evening beat all records. Pep forgot to look for suspicious characters or trouble. Everything went smoothly up to the last show, when he noticed four swaggering fellows come in. They crowded their way to the front and made a noisy shuffling with their feet and talked loudly. A few minutes later a like group gained admittance and took seats among the rear rows of seats. There were cat calls and signals between the two groups and Pep scented trouble.
Vincent, who until he went on the programme the next week helped Pep to keep things in order, came up to his young friend just as the first film of the third series was being run off.
“I say, Pep,” he observed, “two of the fellows in that quartette in front there are the same fellows I saw with Jack Beavers. They look ripe for a demonstration.”
“You mean they may have been sent here to make trouble for us?”
“And rush the crowd in the hope of picking a few pockets—that is their general programme, yes.”
“I wish we could get one of the beach policemen to show himself,” said Pep. “That would scare them off. Those officers are friendly to us, but won’t make a move until a real row is on.”
“I think I can help out on this proposition,” remarked Vincent, and Pep noticed that he passed through the doorway leading to the living apartment, behind the main room.
When the lights came on for a moment between the first and second film Pep stared in blank surprise at a figure standing against the side wall. It was that of a police officer fully uniformed, even to the stout club usually carried. He was not ten feet away from the quartette that had made Pep so apprehensive.
“It’s Mr. Vincent,” guessed Pep—“good for him!”