“Finished with them!” I exclaimed.  “What do you mean to do to them?”

“Arrest them!” cried Kinney sternly, “as soon as they step upon the wharf!”

“You can’t do it!” I gasped.

“I have done it!” answered Kinney.  “It’s good as done.  I have notified the chief of police at New Bedford,” he declared proudly, “to meet me at the wharf.  I used the wireless.  Here is my message.”

From his pocket he produced a paper and, with great importance, read aloud:  “Meet me at wharf on arrival steamer Patience.  Two well-known criminals on board escaping New York police.  Will personally lay charges against them.—­Forbes Kinney.”

As soon as I could recover from my surprise, I made violent protest.  I pointed out to Kinney that his conduct was outrageous, that in making such serious charges, on such evidence, he would lay himself open to punishment.

He was not in the least dismayed.

“I take it then,” he said importantly, “that you do not wish to appear against them?”

“I don’t wish to appear in it at all!” I cried.  “You’ve no right to annoy that young lady.  You must wire the police you are mistaken.”

“I have no desire to arrest the woman,” said Kinney stiffly.  “In my message I did not mention her.  If you want an adventure of your own, you might help her to escape while I arrest her accomplices.”

“I object,” I cried, “to your applying the word ‘accomplice’ to that young lady.  And suppose they are criminals,” I demanded, “how will arresting them help you?”

Kinney’s eyes flashed with excitement.

“Think of the newspapers,” he cried; “they’ll be full of it!” Already in imagination he saw the headlines. “‘A Clever Haul!’” he quoted. “’Noted band of crooks elude New York police, but are captured by Forbes Kinney.’” He sighed contentedly.  “And they’ll probably print my picture, too,” he added.

I knew I should be angry with him, but instead I could only feel sorry.  I have known Kinney for a year, and I have learned that his “make-believe” is always innocent.  I suppose that he is what is called a snob, but with him snobbishness is not an unpleasant weakness.  In his case it takes the form of thinking that people who have certain things he does not possess are better than himself; and that, therefore, they must be worth knowing, and he tries to make their acquaintance.  But he does not think that he himself is better than any one.  His life is very bare and narrow.  In consequence, on many things he places false values.  As, for example, his desire to see his name in the newspapers even as an amateur detective.  So, while I was indignant I also was sorry.

“Joe,” I said, “you’re going to get yourself into an awful lot of trouble, and though I am not in this adventure, you know if I can help you I will.”

He thanked me and we went to the dining-saloon.  There, at a table near ours, we saw the lovely lady and Stumps and the American.  She again smiled at me, but this time, so it seemed, a little doubtfully.