And there was Bauer, a wounded man, shot by somebody with a revolver, a quarter of an hour before.

Even to be questioned was dangerous; to be detained meant ruin to the great business that engaged his energies.

For all he knew, the patrol had actually sighted him as he ran.

His fears were not vain; for the constable raised his voice, crying, "Hi, sir--you there--stop a minute!" Resistance was the one thing worse than to yield.

Wit, and not force, must find escape this time.