"Thank you!" said he, with an amused smile.
"You forgot to look in the soles of my shoes?" Crenshaw jeered.
"Someone else will do that," Harleston replied.
"Someone else?" Crenshaw inflected.
"The police always search prisoners, I believe."
"My God, you don't intend to turn me over to the police?" Crenshaw
exclaimed.
"Why not?" And when Crenshaw did not reply: "Wherein are you different
from any other felon taken red-handed--except that you were taken twice
in the same night, indeed?"
"Think of the scandal that will ensue!" Crenshaw cried.
"It won't affect me!" Harleston laughed.
"Won't affect you?" the other retorted. "Maybe it won't--and maybe it
will!"
"We shall try it," Harleston remarked, and picked up the telephone.
Crenshaw watched him with a snarling sneer on his lips.
Harleston gave the private number of the police superintendent. He
himself answered.
"Major Ranleigh, this is Harleston. I'd like to have a man report to me
at the Collingwood at once.--No; one will be enough, thank you. Have him
come right up to my apartment. Good-bye!--Now if you'll excuse me for a
brief time, Mr. Crenshaw, I'll get into some clothes--while you think
over the question whether you will explain or go to prison.
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