When the chief turned off Highway 98 into the drive of the Lake Forest Yacht Club, he saw that three Daphne police cruisers and one each from the Fairhope police department, the Baldwin County sheriff's patrol, and the Alabama state troopers had beat him to the scene.

When he got out of the car, the wail of sirens he heard told him that additional law enforcement vehicles were on the way.

Then he saw there had been a vehicular collision just inside the brick gate posts. A Chevrolet Impala on its way out of the complex had slammed into the side of a Mercedes sports utility vehicle sitting sideward in the road. He recognized the Mercedes to be that of Chambers D. Galloway, retired chief executive officer of Galloway Carpets, Inc., and a founding member of JOCCWI, who lived in one of the big houses overlooking the beach and Mobile Bay.

The chief shouldered his way through the spectators and law enforcement officers.

"Who was shot?" he demanded, before he saw a very large man wearing black coveralls lying facedown on the ground, his wrists handcuffed behind him.

"Nobody was shot," the retired Green Beret said, just a little condescendingly.

"I was told 'shots fired'!"

"I didn't try tohit him, Charley. At that distance, I could have easily popped him. But I knew that Galloway could intercept him at the gate-I'd already alerted him and others- but I figured, what the hell, if I let off a couple of rounds into the air, he might give up back there."

He pointed into the condominium complex.

"Why?… What did he do to attract your attention?"

"He had a ski mask on and he was trying to pry open a window with a knife… great big sonofabitch. It's still in his car-I looked… For some reason, I got a little suspicious. So I alerted the shift, told them to block the entrances, and then I shined my light on this clown and asked him, 'Excuse me, sir. May I ask what you're doing?' At that point, he took off running."

"Chambers Galloway stopped him?" the chief asked, just a little incredulously.

And then the chief saw Chambers Galloway. The tall, ascetic septuagenarian was standing beside the state trooper, chatting pleasantly, looking more than a little pleased with himself.

Mr. Galloway was wearing a tweed jacket with leather patches on the elbows and shoulder and a matching brimmed cap. He held a twelve-bore Belgian Browning over-and-under shotgun, the action open, crooked over his right arm. He could have been standing in a Scottish field, waiting for the beaters to start the pheasants flying.

As the chief looked, a flashbulb went off, and then a second and a third. The chief saw Charley Whelan, of theMobile Register, standing atop his Jeep Cherokee in such a position that he could get Mr. Chambers D. Galloway; the prone, handcuffed man in black coveralls; and most of the police officers and their vehicles in his shot.

In a sense, Mr. Whelan was Mobile's Mickey O'Hara. He was considerably younger, and far less well paid, but he was the crime reporter for theRegister.

And he had a police frequency scanner both on his desk in the city room of theRegister and in his Cherokee. He had been in the city room-the Register had just gone to bed- when he heard the call announcing that shots had been fired at the Lake Forest Yacht Club.

He almost didn't go to the scene. No matter what he found at the Yacht Club, it was too late to get it in the morning's paper. But on the other hand, it might be an interesting story. Shots were rarely fired on the eastern shore of Mobile Bay, which was not true of other areas in Mobile.

So he got in the Cherokee and raced across the I-10 bridge, which connects Mobile with the eastern shore.

And when he saw what was happening, he was glad he'd come.

This was hilarious. Half the cops on the eastern shore had gathered at the scene of a captured Peeping Tom. And the actual capture of this dangerous lunatic had been made by an old fart with a shotgun, who looked as if he was about to bag a couple of quail.

Charley Whelan got off the roof of his Cherokee, tried and failed to get the Peeping Tom's name from the chief, got the old fart's name and another picture of him, and then drove back to Mobile, this time exceeding the speed limit by only fifteen miles per hour.

The city editor was still there, and Charley made quick prints of the images in his digital camera and showed them to him.

"Well, it's too late for today's rag," the city editor said. "Put it on the Atlanta wire; those big papers close later than we do. We'll run it tomorrow."

Charley sat down at his computer terminal and quickly typed, Daphne, AL Possible Peeping Tom Bagged By Community Watcher, 72 Shown here with his shotgun and his as yet unidentified quarry handcuffed on the ground is retired business executive Chambers D. Galloway, 72, a member of Daphne's Jackson Oak Citizens' Community Watch, Inc., who made a middle-of-the-night citizen's arrest of the man after he was seen peeping into the windows of a resident of the Lake Forest Yacht Club Condominiums, whom police declined to identify.

Four Daphne police cars, two Fairhope police cars, a Baldwin County deputy sheriff, and an Alabama state trooper converged on the scene to take the suspect off Mr. Galloway's hands. The accused peeper will be held in the Daphne police jail while the investigation continues.

Mobile Register Photos By Charles E. Whelan When the pictures and the story reached the Associated Press in Atlanta, the night man there also thought the yarn-and especially the pictures of the old guy with the shotgun-was funny, good human interest, and pushed the National button. This caused the photos and story to be instantly sent to newspapers all over the United States, which of course included those in Philadelphia.

[FOUR] The device that electronically chimed "Be It Ever So Humble" when the doorbell of the residence of Sergeant Matthew Payne was pushed had two controls. One provided a selection of the numbers of bars of music to be played, from Six to All, and the other was a volume control.

Detective Payne, who had few visitors to his home, and used the device primarily as a backup alarm clock, had set both controls to the maximum choices offered.

A full rendition of "Be It Ever So Humble" played at maximum volume in the small confines of the apartment had so far never failed to wake Sergeant Payne from the deepest sleep.

And so it did the following morning at 6:05 A.M. when the Wachenhut security guard, a retired police officer who both liked the young cop in the attic and was grateful for the bottle of Wild Turkey he'd been given for Christmas, rode the elevator up, laid a copy of the just deliveredBulletin on the floor outside the door to the attic, and pushed the doorbell.

Half awake, Sergeant Payne had just identified the sound, glanced through half-opened eyes at the time displayed on the ceiling, and decided he had a good half hour to get leisurely out of bed, when a female voice quite close to him brought him suddenly to full wakefulness.

"What thehell is that?" Detective Olivia Lassiter had asked, as much in alarm as curiosity.

Matt opened his eyes fully.

Olivia had been so startled by the music that she had suddenly sat up on the bed and not thought about pulling the sheet up to modestly cover her exposed bosom.

Jesus, she has beautiful breasts!

"That's the newspaper," he said.

"Thenewspaper?"

"The security guy rings the doorbell when he brings the paper up," Matt explained.

Olivia saw where his eyes were directed and pulled the sheet up over her chest.

"The cow, so to speak, is already out of the barn," Matt said.

"What time is it?" Olivia asked, ignoring him.

Matt pointed at the ceiling. After a moment's confusion, Olivia looked at the ceiling.

"My God, I've got to get out of here!" she said.