He presently found himself on the roof with those
engaged in a man-hunt for his friend. When Clay shattered the window
and disappeared inside after his escape from the roof, Johnnie gave a
deep sigh of relief. This gun-play got on his nerves, since Lindsay
was the target of it.
The bandy-legged range-rider was still trailing along with the party
ten minutes later when its scattered members drew together in tacit
admission that the hunted man had escaped.
"Did youse get a look at his mug, Mr. Durand?" asked one of the
officers. "It's likely we've got it down at headquarters in the
gall'ry."
Durand had already made up his mind on that point.
"We didn't see his face in the light, Pete. No, I wouldn't know him
again."
His plug-uglies took their cue from him. So did the officers. If
Durand did not want a pinch there would, of course, not be one.
The gang leader was in a vile temper. If this story reached the
newspapers all New York would be laughing at him. He could appeal to
the police, have Clay Lindsay arrested, and get him sent up for a term
on the charge of burglary. But he could not do it without the whole
tale coming out. One thing Jerry Durand could not stand was ridicule.
His vanity was one of his outstanding qualities, and he did not want it
widely known that the boob he had intended to trap had turned the
tables on him, manhandled him, jeered at him, and locked him in a room
with his three henchmen.
Johnnie Green chose this malapropos moment for reminding the officers
of the reason for the coming to the house.
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