He had eaten practically nothing since his lunch of
Tuesday, had walked many miles, and slept but a few hours after a
night of anxious searching, and suddenly he felt faint and sick.
"Come on?" he repeated. "Come where?"
"Where you belong." The policeman's grasp was steadying. "Hurry up. I
can't wait here all night."
"Neither can I." Van Landing took out his handkerchief and wiped his
face. "I wish you'd get my hat." The crowd was pressing closer. He was
losing time and must get away. Besides, he could not trust himself.
The man's manner was insolent, and he was afraid he would kick him.
Instead he slipped some money in his hand.
"Mistake, my friend. You'd have your trouble for nothing if you took
me in. There's no charge save running. I want to find a boy who
passed me just now. Name is Noodles. Know him?"
For a moment the cop hesitated. The man's voice, dress, manner, were
not the sort seen in this section, and the bill slipped in his hand
had a yellow tinge--still--
"I've dropped my hat. Get it, will you?" Van Landing threw some change
in the still gathering crowd, and as they scampered for it he turned
to the policeman, then caught hold of the railing.
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