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It was not in Pee-wee's nature to run from anything or anybody. So there he stood amid the telltale mementoes of the dreadful game while Detectives Slippett and Spotson strolled into the field. They were just in time to behold a fleeting vision of forms wriggling through fences, gliding around buildings, and scrambling over roof tops. County Detective Spotson was quick to sense the situation.
"I know even better arguments than that," Pee-wee boasted. "Well," said Detective Spotson rather more gruffly, "you'd better look out how you try to interfere with the law, young feller, 'cause first thing you know you'll find yourself in jail. And you'd better keep away from this outfit down here, too. Now you chase yourself back to where you belong see?"
"You let go, I'm not going to run." Detective Spotson, like Keekie Joe, trusted nobody. But since he had no intention of arresting Pee-wee and since the diminutive captive seemed rather angered than frightened, he released his hold. By a series of wriggles and contortions, Pee-wee adjusted his clothing and settled his neck in his stretched neckband.
"Well, what were you doing here then, huh?" the officer asked gruffly. "Yer gave'm the tip, didn't yer?" "You let go, I'm not going to run away," Pee-wee said. "Do you think I'm scared of you? You let me go!" "Do yer know what an accessory is?" Detective Spotson demanded, loosening his grip somewhat. "It's something you buy to put on an automobile," Pee-wee said.
Then around the distant corner appeared two figures in civilian clothes, strangers in Barrel Alley. They were County Detectives Slippett and Spotson. They strolled down the alley innocently. Keekie Joe, whose activities were chiefly local, knew them not. But Pee-wee Harris, Scout, knew them. On one of his long hikes he had seen them arrest a motorist in Northvale.
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