Her lips were at the speaking tube in an instant.  “Madison Street police station, and hurry!” she ordered.  “An extra five for speed.”  The taxi whirled around a corner on two wheels; it shot by a policeman; dodged up an alley, and out on the other side, then stopped with a jolt that came near sending Mazie through the glass.

“Here you are.”  She thrust a bill in the driver’s hand, then raced up the steps and into the forbidding police station.

A sergeant looked up from the desk as she entered.

“Johnny Thompson,” she said excitedly.  “I want to see Johnny Thompson!”

“I’d like to myself, miss,” he said smiling.  “There never was a featherweight like him.  But he’s dead.”

“Dead?” Mazie caught at her throat.

“Sure.  Didn’t you read about it?  Long time ago.  Died in Russia.”

“Oh!” Mazie sank limply into a chair.  “Then you haven’t heard?  He isn’t arrested?  He isn’t here?”

“Arrested?” The sergeant’s face took on an amused and puzzled look; then he smiled again.  “Oh, yes, there was something on the records tonight saying he and a Jap was wanted for conspiracy.  But take it from me, lady, that’s all pure bunk; some crook posing as Johnny Thompson, more than likely.  I tell you, there never was a more loyal chap than this same Johnny; one of the first to enlist.”

“I—­I know,” faltered Mazie.  Now, for the first time, she noticed a man who had entered after her.  He stepped to the desk and asked a question regarding a person she knew nothing of.  Then he went silently out again.  Mazie sat quite still, then rising, she smiled faintly at the sergeant.

“I—­I guess you must be right—­but—­but the papers are full of it.”

“Oh, the papers!” The officer spread his hands out in a gesture of contempt.  “They’d print anything!”

As Mazie stepped out into the street she was approached by a man, and with a little start, she noticed that it was the one who had entered the police station a few minutes before.  Halting, she waited for him to speak.

“You were looking for Johnny Thompson?” He said the words almost in a whisper.

“Yes.”

“Well, he is alive.  He is not dead.  He was arrested, but has been discharged.  I can take you to him.  Shall I?”

“Oh, will you?” Mazie’s voice echoed her gratitude.

“Sure.  There’s a taxi now,” the man replied in a foreign accent.

* * * * *

Johnny had not been released; far from it.  And yet it was true, he was at that very moment free.  His freedom was only from moment to moment, however; the kind of freedom one gets who runs away from the police.

It was not Johnny’s fault that he ran away either.  They had been following the orders of the police to the letter, he and Hanada.  They had gone across the bridge with them, had meekly submitted to being handcuffed, had been waiting for the patrol-wagon, when things happened.