There was something so commanding in Darrin’s voice and manner that Simmons concluded to listen for a moment.

Keeping his flash-light turned on Darrin, the chief of police followed Dave.  Darrin whispered something in the big man’s ear.  In another moment the two were whispering together animatedly.

“Why didn’t you come to the point before, Darrin?” demanded the chief gruffly.

“Great Scott, didn’t I, as soon as I could postpone your mania for having me loaded down with police chains?”

“Yet how do I know you’re telling me anything like the truth?”

“If I’m lying, you can find it out very quickly, can’t you?” demanded Darrin.  “But come along, or you’ll be too late.  Oh, why do all the biggest slow pokes in creation get appointed to the police force?”

“Come along with me, Delmar,” ordered Chief Simmons, turning to one of his policemen.  “The rest of you stay here—–­though you can pass on into the open air.  Then wait there for us.”

“Don’t you waste any time on worry, Dick,” Dave called back.

Prescott laughed easily.  Whatever Dave had discovered, or thought he had, Darrin’s chum was quite content now to await the result of all that enthusiasm.

“We must not make much noise,” cautioned Darrin, as he led the way swiftly, though on tiptoe.  “We don’t want to scare the other people cold until we have them cooped so that they can’t get away.  But you’d better be ready, in case they’re desperate enough to try shooting!”

Up the street, to the head of another alley way, Darrin led the swift chase.

“Now, softer than ever,” he whispered, over his shoulder, without halting.

A moment later Dave halted before two stone steps that led down to a basement junk shop.

Just as he did so a low voice inside could be heard, saying in barely audible tones: 

“I’m so anxious to know whether Prescott fell into the trap that I can hardly wait another minute.”

“You’d better wait until morning, or you’ll tumble into something with your eyes shut, and that will mean both of us nabbed,” growled another voice.

“Do you think they found Prescott—–­that they believed in the appearances against him?”

“I can’t say,” came the other low voice.  “And I can wait.  I’m not crazy on the subject, as you seem to be.”

“Explain this all over again, to us, won’t you?” shouted the chief, pushing open the door of the junk shop and striding in, backed by the light and the revolver of Officer Delmar.

“What?” screamed Phin Drayne, then sank to his knees in the extremity of his terror.

“Don’t either of you try to put up any fight,” warned the chief.  “Delmar, here are my handcuffs to put with your own.  Hand me your light, and then iron both of these fellows securely.”

The owner of the junk shop, a man under thirty, dirty and low browed, stood cowering back against a bench.  The fellow looked as though he would have fought had there been any chance to draw a weapon.  But he was gazing straight into the muzzle of the police chief’s weapon.