THE WRONG COAT
The girl flew to the door. I could easily read her mind. If I was a burglar or a lunatic, the police meant protection; in case my errand was in good faith, there would still be the police to greet the mysterious stranger.
Presently she returned, followed by a private detective and two policemen.
"Is this the fellow?" asked the former, scowling at me.
The girl explained, rather incoherently, her mistake. Everybody sat down. It was quite a social gathering, or would have been but for the scrutiny of the police, which I bore none too well. From all sides questions came popping at me, and it was only by the use of the telephone connecting my
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