As the little squad approached Broadway from a side-street, hastening to headquarters, the Hibernian firebrand and his supposed ally stood on the curbstone, A moment later Merwyn struck his companion such a powerful blow on the temple that he fell in the street, almost in front of the officers of the law.  The young fellow then sprung upon the stunned and helpless man, and took away his weapons, at the same time, crying:  “Secure him.  He’s a leader of the mob.”

“Yes, and you too, my hard hitter,” said the sergeant in command.

“I’ll go quietly enough, so long as you take him with me.  Be quick about it, too, for I have news that should be known at headquarters as soon as possible.”

The police now supposed that they recognized one of a band of detectives, everywhere busy about the city in all kinds of disguises,—­men of wonderful nerve, who rendered the authorities very important services, and often captured the most dangerous of the ruffianly leaders.

The fellow in question was hustled to his feet, having discovered Merwyn’s gang sooner than he desired.  The squad pushed through the fast-gathering and bewildered crowd, and soon reached headquarters.  The young fellow told his story in the presence of Mr. Vosburgh, who evidently had credentials which secured for him absolute confidence on the part of the authorities.

Merwyn soon learned to recognize in his interlocutor, the superintendent of the metropolitan police, a man to whose active brain, iron will, and indomitable courage, the city chiefly owed its deliverance,—­Thomas C. Acton.

Confirmation of the sinister tidings was already coming in fast.  The brutal mob that had sacked and burned the Colored Orphan Asylum was moving southward, growing with accessions from different quarters, like a turbulent torrent.  Its destination was well understood, and Acton knew that the crisis had come thus early.  He frequently conferred with Chief Clerk Seth C. Hawley, upon whom, next to himself, rested the heaviest burdens of those terrific days.

Merwyn offered his services on the force, stipulating, however, that he might be in a measure his own master, since he had other duties to perform, at the same time promising to do his share of the fighting.

Mr. Vosburgh drew Acton to one side, and made a few whispered explanations.  Merwyn’s request was granted at once, Acton adding, “There will be a general call in the morning papers for the enrolment of citizens as policemen.”

The moments were crowded with preparations, counsels, and decisions.  The telegraph wires, concentring there from all parts of the city, were constantly ticking off direful intelligence; but the most threatening fact was the movement down Broadway of unknown thousands, maddened by liquor, and confident from their unchecked excesses during the day.  They knew that they had only to destroy the handful of men at police headquarters and the city was theirs to plunder and destroy with hyena-like savagery.