Whether Fudge's watch was slow or whether, absorbed in their conversation, they consumed more time than they realized on the way, the City Hall clock proclaimed twenty-two minutes to five when they reached the Common and, to Fudge's intense disgust, the theater was out. The ticket-seller had departed from his glass hutch between the two doors and the latter were closed. Fudge scowled his displeasure.
"He's made his getaway," he said, "but he can't escape us long. The Hand of the Law" He paused, his attention attracted by one of the colorful posters adorning the entrance. "Say, Perry, that's where the Mexican tries to throw her off the cliff. Remember? I'd like to see that again. It's a corker! Gee, why didn't we think to come here this afternoon?"
"I'd rather wait until Thursday and see some new ones," replied Perry. "Come over to the house for a while, Fudge."
"Aren't you going on with this?" asked Fudge surprisedly.
"Well, he's gone, hasn't he?"
"That doesn't keep us from having a look at his hiding place, does it? We'll go around there and reconnoiter. Come on."
But Perry held back.
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