"But what are we going to do?"

"Go after that policeman, see? He can't be far away. Come!"

The next instant the boys were bounding along the street after the
policeman they had met but a few minutes before. Fortunately they ran
across him sooner than they had expected, for hearing the sound of
hurrying footsteps, the official blocked the way, caught the lads by
the shoulders, and demanded what they were running for. Rod pantingly
explained, and soon the three were hastening back to where the struggle
had taken place.

At first the policeman had been doubtful as to the truth of the story,
but when he flashed his light upon the prostrate form of a man lying in
the gutter, he gave vent to an exclamation of astonishment. The man
was unconscious, and he was bleeding from a wound in the head. Rod
never forgot the look of that face lying there so white beneath the
light of the lantern. It was the face of a man about thirty years of
age, with a dark moustache, and a slight scar upon the right cheek.
The policeman felt the man's pulse, and found that he was alive. He
then placed a whistle to his lips and gave several long shrill blasts.
He next enquired the names of the two boys, where they were from, and
what they were doing out at that time of the night. To these questions
Rod answered in such a straightforward manner that the policeman was
satisfied.

"You had better get on now," he ordered, "But, remember, we'll want you
in the morning to give evidence. Don't leave the city until you get
permission."