The black mass in the middle of Trescott's property was hardly allowed
to cool before the builders were at work on another house. It had
sprung upward at a fabulous rate. It was like a magical composition
born of the ashes. The doctor's office was the first part to be
completed, and he had already moved in his new books and instruments
and medicines.
Trescott sat before his desk when the chief of police arrived. "Well,
we found him," said the latter.
"Did you?" cried the doctor. "Where?"
"Shambling around the streets at daylight this morning. I'll be blamed
if I can figure on where he passed the night."
"Where is he now?"
"Oh, we jugged him. I didn't know what else to do with him. That's
what I want you to tell me. Of course we can't keep him. No charge
could be made, you know."
"I'll come down and get him."
The official grinned retrospectively. "Must say he had a fine career
while he was out. First thing he did was to break up a children's
party at Page's. Then he went to Watermelon Alley. Whoo! He stampeded
the whole outfit. Men, women, and children running pell-mell, and
yelling. They say one old woman broke her leg, or something, shinning
over a fence. Then he went right out on the main street, and an Irish
girl threw a fit, and there was a sort of a riot. He began to run, and
a big crowd chased him, firing rocks. But he gave them the slip
somehow down there by the foundry and in the railroad yard. We looked
for him all night, but couldn't find him."
"Was he hurt any? Did anybody hit him with a stone?"
"Guess there isn't much of him to hurt any more, is there? Guess he's
been hurt up to the limit. No. They never touched him. Of course
nobody really wanted to hit him, but you know how a crowd gets. It's
like--it's like--"
"Yes, I know."
For a moment the chief of the police looked reflectively at the floor.
Then he spoke hesitatingly. "You know Jake Winter's little girl was
the one that he scared at the party. She is pretty sick, they say."
"Is she? Why, they didn't call me. I always attend the Winter family."
"No? Didn't they?" asked the chief, slowly. "Well--you know--Winter
is--well, Winter has gone clean crazy over this business. He
wanted--he wanted to have you arrested."
"Have me arrested? The idiot! What in the name of wonder could he have
me arrested for?"
"Of course. He is a fool. I told him to keep his trap shut. But then
you know how he'll go all over town yapping about the thing. I thought
I'd better tip you."
"Oh, he is of no consequence; but then, of course, I'm obliged to you,
Sam."
"That's all right. Well, you'll be down tonight and take him out, eh?
You'll get a good welcome from the jailer. He don't like his job for a
cent. He says you can have your man whenever you want him. He's got no
use for him."
"But what is this business of Winter's about having me arrested?"
"Oh, it's a lot of chin about your having no right to allow
this--this--this man to be at large. But I told him to tend to his own
business. Only I thought I'd better let you know. And I might as well
say right now, doctor, that there is a good deal of talk about this
thing. If I were you, I'd come to the jail pretty late at night,
because there is likely to be a crowd around the door, and I'd bring
a--er--mask, or some kind of a veil, anyhow."