“But—­” she echoed, seizing his sleeve and dragging him back.

Mr. Simpkins thought that they could hire somebody to go bail; no, in that case there would be no money to pay the great lawyer whom they must at once engage to defend her son—­Mr. Hogan, one who had the pull and called all the judges by their first names.  He would not usually go into court for less than five hundred dollars, but Mr. Simpkins said he would explain the circumstances to him and could almost promise Mrs. Mathusek that he would persuade him to do it this once for one hundred and fifty.  So well did he act his part that Tony’s mother had to force him to take the money, which she unsewed from inside the ticking of her mattress.  Then he conducted her to the station house to show her how comfortable Tony really was and how much better it was to let him stay in jail one night and make sure of his being turned out the next afternoon by giving the money to Mr. Hogan, than to use it for getting bail for him and leave him lawyerless and at the mercy of his accusers.  When Mrs. Mathusek saw the cell Tony was in she became even more frightened than she had been at first.  But by that time she had already given the money to Simpkins.

Second thoughts are ofttimes best.  Most crooks are eventually caught through their having, from long immunity, grown careless and yielded to impulse.  Once he had signed the complaint in which he swore that he had seen Tony throw the brick, Delany had undergone a change of heart.  Being an experienced policeman he was sensitive to official atmosphere, and he had developed a hunch that Judge Harrison was leery of the case.  The more he thought of it the less he liked the way the son-of-a-gun had acted, the way he’d tried to get Mathusek to ask for an immediate hearing.  Why had he ever been such a fool as to sign the complaint himself?  It had been ridiculous—­just because he was mad at the boy for trying to get away and wanted to make things easy for Froelich.  If he went on the stand the next afternoon he’d have to make up all sorts of fancy details, and Hogan would have his skin neatly tacked to the barn doors for keeps.  Thereafter, no matter what happened, he’d never be able to change his testimony.  After all, it would be easy enough to abandon the charge at the present point.  It was a genuine case of cold feet.  He scented trouble.  He wanted to renig while the renigging was good.  What in hell had Froelich ever done for him, anyhow?  A few measly pieces of roast!

When Hogan returned home that evening with the little Hogans from the movies he found the cop waiting for him outside his door.

“Look here,” Delany whispered, “I’m going to can this here Mathusek window case.  I’m going to fall down flat on my identification and give you a walkout.  So go easy on me—­and sort of help me along, see?”

“The hell you are!” retorted Hogan indignantly.  “Then where do I come in, eh?  Why don’t you come through?”