THE GIRL IN HIS HOUSE
your hands, and no monkey-shines, or I'll rap you one on the conk!"
Armitage obeyed mechanically. There was a temporary cut-off between his mind and his body; they had ceased to co-ordinate. The policeman patted all the pockets, and a thrill of relief ran over the victim. Somewhere along the route he had lost the automatic. As he felt the experienced fingers going over his body he summoned with Herculean effort his scattered forces. Smack into the arms of a policeman! Here was a situation which called for a vast political pull or a Machiavellian cunning.
"Well, what's the dope?" demanded the policeman, rather puzzled to find neither weapons nor burglarious tools.
"I take it you're a reasonable man," said Armitage, breathlessly.
"Can the old-folks stuff. What were you doing in that yard?"
"Supposing I tell you I've done nothing wrong, that my name is James Armitage, and that—" Armitage paused, shocked. He couldn't tell this policeman anything. The thought of the girl made it utterly impossible. He would simply be taken around
18
