"Here comes Toot." The Whistler, who was all eyes, had been the first to espy him, running at the top of his speed. Out of the darkness behind him loomed the powerful form of a policeman.
"The cop's comin', fellers. Here he is," cried Toot.
"Gimme the whisky," said the Whistler. "Take a swig, mister. It'll warm you up."
Shagarach applied his lips to the bottle and took a sparing draught.
"Well, how is the gentleman?" sang out the policeman, cheerily.
"He's all right now," answered the Whistler, a strange uneasiness coming over him.
The officer stooped down to the man's face.
"Why, Mr. Shagarach——" Surprise prevented him from saying more and Shagarach looked up at hearing his name.
"You're not on the old beat now?" he said.
"No, I'm on the park force till I get strong again. This is a bad accident. Coming round all right, though, by the look o' things."