The police force lowered its paper and blinked at old Caleb in stupefaction. The last known address of the tanner had been Los Angeles.
“Where’d you come from now?” it demanded weakly.
“None o’ your damn business where I come from now. What’s the idea o’ jailin’ an innocent youngster like Natie Forge for his old man’s cussedness? That’s what I wanner know and I’m gonna find out. Somebody’s goin’ to answer for this—and they’re goin’ to answer to me!”
The police force gradually recovered from this astonishing levitation of the Gridley corpus across three thousand continental miles. It became human and a servant of the public, meaning Caleb.
“You needn’t blame me. I ain’t got nothin’ against him. All I do is carry out the law.”
“Well, carry it out now and never bring it back. Where’s the boy? Got him here?”
“Sure I got him here. Wanner see him?”
“What the devil do you think I’m here for—to gaze at your homely mug, maybe?”
Gridley followed the police force out into the rear corridor and down the twin rows of steel cages until they reached the last on the left. A drawn-faced figure looked up anxiously.
“Got visitors, Nat,” announced the department. “Friend o’ yours! Gridley!”