od had shaken the crestfallen grocer warmly by the hand, warning him
with the greatest solicitude against further exposure to the night air.
Two other policemen appeared; the whole force was doing them honor, Hood
declared proudly. He lifted his voice in song, but the lyrical impulse
was hushed by a prod from a revolver. He continued to talk, however,
assuring his captors of his heartiest admiration for their efficiency. He
meant to recommend them for positions in the secret service--men of their
genius were wasted upon a country town.

[Illustration: "Throw up your hands, boys; it's no use!" cried Hood
in mock despair.]

When they reached the town hall a melancholy jailer roused himself and
conducted them to the lockup in the rear of the building. Careful search
revealed nothing but a mass of crumpled clippings and a pipe and tobacco
in Hood's pockets.

"Guess they dropped their tools somewhere," muttered one of the officers.

"My dear boy," explained Hood, "the gentleman in the nightie, whom I take
to be a citizen and merchant of standing in your metropolis, may be able
to assist you in finding them. We left our safe-blowing apparatus in a
chicken-coop in his back yard."

They were entered on the blotter as R. Hood, F. Tuck, and Cass
O'Weary--the last Hood spelled with the utmost care for the scowling
turnkey--and charged with attempt to commit burglary and arson.

Hood grumbled; he had hoped it would be murder or piracy on the high
seas; burglary and arson were so commonplace, he remarked with a sigh.

The door closed upon them with an echoing clang, and they found
themselves in a large coop, bare save for several benches ranged along
the walls. Two of these were occupied by prisoners, one of whom, a short,
thick-set man, snored vociferously. Hood noted his presence with
interest.

"Fogarty!" he whispered with a triumphant wave of his hand.

A tall man who had chosen a cot as remote as possible from his fellow
prisoner sat up and, seeing the newcomers, stalked majestically to the
door and yelled dismally for the keeper, who lounged indifferently to the
cage, puffing a cigar.

"This is an outrage!" roared the prisoner. "Locking me up with these
felons--these common convicts! I demand counsel; I'm going to have a writ
of habeas corpus! When I get out of here I'm going to go to the governor
of your damned State and complain of this. All Connecticut shall know of
it! All America shall hear of it! To be locked