citement by
starting promptly along with his captive.

Dick & Co. turned and followed a little way. The crowd that kept in the
wake of the policeman was soon a dense one.

"You'll be sorry for this, youngster!" growled a low, angry voice just
behind Dick.

Like a flash Prescott wheeled. It was not plain, however, who, in all
that throng, had spoken to him. But Dick's roving gaze soon made out,
several yards away, a man in brown, wearing a gray overcoat. The fellow
was marching along with the throng as though he, too, were an idle
spectator.

"That's the fit-thrower's other friend," flashed through Dick's mind.
"He must have been the fellow who spoke behind me just now, too."

"Oh, let's not go any further," proposed Tom Reade. "We've seen folks
arrested before this."

"Come along," said Dick shortly, not caring to explain his reasons just
at this moment.

So the chums kept on in the wake of the crowd. A block further on a
uniformed policeman stepped forward to have a look at Whalen's prisoner.

"Moll-buzzer," explained Policeman Whalen briefly to his brother of the
force. A "moll-buzzer" is a thief who robs women in crowds.

The uniformed policeman fell back and the crowd moved forward, but Dick
seized the second policeman's coat sleeve.

"There's another of the gang," whispered Dick, pointing to the
black-moustached man in the gray overcoat.

"Are you sure?" demanded officer number two.

"Positive," whispered Dick. "At least, we saw them talking together
early this morning."

At this moment the man in the gray overcoat turned. He saw Dick and the
policeman talking in low tones. Without waiting an instant the man in
the gray overcoat darted forward, trying to break through the crowd.

"Grab him!" shouted the policeman.

Three or four men moved closer to obey.

"Look out!" yelled some one frantically. "He's got a pistol."

The citizen helpers drew away quickly at that information, but the delay
had been enough to enable the policeman to close in on his man. With his
locust stick the officer struck down the pistol hand and snatched away
the weapon. An instant later two prisoners were marching toward the
police station, the second one having been taken only on suspicion.

"Bully for you, Dick Prescott!" cried Grocer Smith, laying a heavy but
approving hand across Dick's shoulders.

"Oh, we all recognized the pair," Prescott answered modestly. "They were
together this morning, and the fit-thrower was