"You are aware, no doubt, Puter, that I have a warrant for you, and that you will be obliged to return with me to Oregon?"
"Yes, Mr. Burns, I presumed as much when you first spoke to me," was my rejoinder.
"Well, Steve, come along then—we will be on our way to the station," continued Burns, at the same time grabbing me roughly by the coat sleeve. As he said this, there was another noticeable transformation in the man's conduct towards me, and had I not been prepared for it in a way, his heartless manner might have worked my complete collapse and upset all my plans. It was the change from Burns, the man sociable—my friend—to Burns the detective, cold and severe!
At this point I made some effort to parley with him, still hoping to gain a little more time by the operation. We had reached the door of the private office, and it was partially open. Standing thus, I endeavored to secure from him an admission as to the particular cause of my arrest, as I was still under bond to the Government in all the Federal cases against me, and could not understand what motive prompted a Government official to demand my return to Oregon when I felt satisfied that whatever new criminal proceedings had been instituted against me were the result of State charges.
However, when I saw that it was useless to attempt any further delay along these lines, I apparently gave in, and consented to do as he desired, but requested the privilege of being permitted to go to my room for my grip and suitcase and such clothing as I might require for the journey West. My object in making this request was to get Burns where I knew he was unacquainted, and to a locality where I was familiar with every nook and corner, and because of this knowledge of surroundings, to give him the slip and get away.
But "Foxy Quiller" Burns evidently suspected my object, and avoided the trap, so I dropped the subject without further comment. I knew, as a matter of fact, that my opportunity would come, and concluded to be patient until that time arrived. My watchword, as in the beginning, was to keep cool.
After we had stepped into the lobby of the postoffice, I glanced around, and to my surprise and satisfaction, I observed but one man present—the one who had been there when we entered the private office. A number of women were also moving about, attending to postal matters, but they did not interest me so much as to know that so far as Burns and myself were concerned, we were practically alone.
This idea must have been uppermost in the mind of my captor, because, upon reaching the street, still arm in arm, there was a look of keen disappointment on Burns' countenance. He was manifestly agitated, and his air of supreme confidence that had reigned with such visible force a few moments previously, had apparently deserted him. He glanced uneasily around from right to left as if seeking somebody, and all his actions indicated clearly that he was very much at sea over some unexpected situation.
Knowing that the police station was but two blocks away, I realized that the time for action had arrived, and that something must be done without delay. I anticipated, as a matter of course, upon reaching the corner, that Burns would turn to the right for the purpose of walking me directly to the station, but instead he stopped, or hesitated, as it were, and I could now see that the great, bold and daring Burns, the one fearless detective who was reputed to be the personification of an iceberg itself, even under the most trying conditions, had really become excited.
Upon reaching the corner and glancing about again, he noticed a car approaching and suggested that we take it. Realizing at once that he was in ignorance relative to the close proximity of the station, and as a measure to gain further time, I remarked:
"Didn't you say we were going to the police station?"
"Yes," replied Burns.
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