in the protective powers of the police?" Digby demanded.
"Well, I saw one of 'em do some rather efficient scrapping this morning!" Alan paused and smote his palm with a remorseful fist. "By the Eternal, I'm forgetting poor Barcus!"
"Barcus?"
"Chap whose boat I chartered into Portland—sheer luck on my part—he's one of the salt of the earth. I left him on the waterfront there at dawn, mixing it up with the police force in order to divert their minds from Rose and me. It's too long to tell now. First, something must be done for the boy. You've got influence of some sort in New Bedford, surely?"
Digby reflected. "There's George Blaine, justice of the peace"
"The very man! Telegraph him in Barcus's interests immediately. And telegraph Barcus as well. Send him a hundred for expenses and tell him to join me here in New York as quickly as he can!"
"Your friend's address?" Digby inquired, as he sat down at the desk and fumbled with the supply of hotel stationery.
"New Bedford jail, of course!" Alan chuckled, but cut his laugh in two as something fluttered from the pack of envelopes and fell to the floor between the two men. It was a Trey of Hearts.
