s hers and the cat was up the only
tree on that street east of Central Park. At the foot of the tree sat
a large bulldog gazing fixedly up at the cat.

Whitney Barnes was so occupied with his heel and toe pace that he did
not descry the woman or the dog or the tree or the cat until the woman
seized him by the arm and cried:

"You must save my darling Zaza from that dog."

Then she tailed off into hysterical sobs, but did not release her
grip.

"Madam, I'm in great haste," retorted Barnes, striving to wriggle free
from her grip. "I would advise you to call a policeman."

"There is no policeman," sobbed the distressed mistress of Zaza. "Oh,
you m-m-m-must s-s-s-save my Z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-aza. Oo-oo!"

Then Barnes glimpsed the dog and its fang-filled grin as it stared up
at the cat.

"You don't expect me to tackle that dog?" he asked, backing away and
making another effort to free himself.

"Shoot him! do anything to him!" insisted the distressed female.
"Oo-oo-oo! he kills cats. Do something quick or I must scream."

Whitney Barnes would have welcomed an open manhole to vanish into. If
that woman screamed and held fast to him till the police came it would
be just as bad as the baby case. But if he tackled the dog he would
probably go to the hospital and be afflicted with hydrophobia and all
sorts of things.

"Calm yourself my dear woman," he said frantically. "The dog cannot
climb the tree and your cat is perfectly safe."

"Are y-y-y-you s-s-s-sure?" she moaned. Then grabbing him tighter.
"But you must not leave me. In case the dog should go up that tree you
must attack it with your cane."

"I promise," panted Barnes, "if you will only release your grip on my
arm. Your finger nails are tearing the flesh."

"I w-w-w-will not hold you so tight," she consented, "but I must hold
on to you till somebody comes. Oh, look at that brute. He is biting
the tree. He----"

But the sudden clangor of a patrol wagon and the hammering of
steel-shod hoofs on the cobbles caused the owner of Zaza both to cease
her shrill lamentations and let go of Whitney Barnes's arm.

The patrol wagon was rolling down behind them at a furious pace while
its gong rent the stillness of the night as a warning to all crooks
and criminals to beware and to scurry to shelter. It is the New York
brass band method of thief hunting and if that patrol wagon gong
hadn't broken before the vehicle had crossed Madison avenue the
destinies of several pr