"Who are you?" asked the other, scowling.

"The house detective. It's my business to watch things. So I noticed you
talking to the police officer; I also noticed the patrol wagon standing
on the opposite side of the street for nearly an hour--my report on that
will amuse them at headquarters, won't it? And I noticed you nod to the
bruiser, just as your victim came out."

"Let go of my arm, sir!"

"Do you prefer handcuffs? I arrest you. We'll run over to the station
and explain things."

"Do you know who I am?"

"Perfectly, Mr. Mershone. I believe I ran you in for less than this,
some two years ago. You gave the name of Ryder, then. Better take
another, to-night."

"If you're the house detective, why do you mix up in this affair?"
enquired Mershone, his anxiety showing in his tone.

"Your victim was a guest of the house."

"Not at all. He was merely attending the Kermess."

"That makes him our guest, sir. Are you ready?"

Mershone glanced around and then lowered his voice.