his eyes a little to watch him leave in the hands of the law but he could not be sure.
Arrived below, Officer Delaney inquired from Dhinn the location of the telephone. Dudley guessed that he was going to ask for the patrol wagon. He would be taken to the county jail, located in the basement of the new concrete court house at Hedgewood. Nothing would start the tongues wagging and the reporters running as the sound of that patrol gong clanging through the night. There would be publicity enough about this case later, heavens knew, and he couldn't hope to keep Carmelita out of it altogether. But for the present the more quietly things were done the better.
"I say, officer," Dudley offered pleasantly, enough, considering the circumstances, "couldn't I call a taxi and go to jail that way? Your motorcycle's outside, I know, and you can ride right alongside so there'll be no chance of my getting away. I'd appreciate it a lot if I could arrange it that way."
Officer Delaney was not a bad scout. Moreover, he preferred men of his own color to the rather unpleasant-looking wounded Hindu who lay upstairs and he knew that the driver of the patrol would not be joyed at having his poker game interrupted at this hour of the night if it could be avoided.
