policeman was examining the car, when he called to his fellow
officer: "Here, Sim, did you see this car was blown up inside the seat?"

Shirley, his acuteness returned by this time, ran to the car eluding his
captor's hold. He had not observed before the jagged shattered hole torn
in the side of the leather side. It had all happened so swiftly, that
his professional instincts were slow in reasserting themselves after the
"buck" of the car.

"You're right," he exclaimed. "There's an alarm clock and a dry
battery--the same man made this who built the gas-generator--"

"Whadd'ye mean--ain't you the feller after all?" asked the first
patrolman, beginning to get dubious about his arrest.

"No, I am no thief. But just take me to the station-house quick, and
turn in your report. Let this other man guard that car. Hurry up!"

"Say, feller, who do you think is making this arrest? You'll go to the
station-house when I get ready."

"Then you're ready now," snapped the criminologist. "You'll see me
discharged very promptly, when I speak to the Commissioner over the
wire."

The officer was supercilious until the station-house was reached. He
had heard this blatant talk before. What was his surprise when Shirley
telephoned to the head of the Department and then called the Captain to
the instrument.

"Release Mr. Shirley at once," was the crisp order. "Give him any men or
assistance he needs."

"Well, whadd'ye know about that? Not even entered on the blotter to
credit me with a good arrest!" The patrolman turned away in disgust.

"Do you want any of the reserves, sir?" The Captain was scrupulously
polite.

"Not one. I'm going to study that machine again. You might detail a
plain clothes man to walk along the other side of the street for luck.
Good-day."

The automobile to which he returned was still the object of community
interest. Shirley took the remains of the bomb which had caused his
sudden elevation. The policeman approached him from the fruit store.

"The man wants damages for the stock you destroyed, mister. I'll fix it
up with him if you want--about twenty-five dollars will do."

"Well, hand him this five-dollar bill and see if that won't dry some of
the imported tears," retorted Shirley with a laugh. In a few minutes he
was bowling along on a surface car, to the club. There was no longer any
use in trying to hide his identity or address, for the conspirators knew
at least of his interest and assistance in t