From the junkman,
too, had been taken a ring of keys.
"One of these fit your door?" demanded Simmons.
"Yes," growled the scowling one. "The long key."
"Bring the prisoners along, Delmar," ordered the chief. "I'll
lock up here. We'll come back later for a search."
Out on the sidewalk Phin Drayne plucked up courage enough to find
his voice.
"For goodness' sake, let me go, Chief," he begged, falteringly.
"I haven't done anything, although things look against me."
"I guess we'll be able to put things enough against you," retorted
the police official mockingly.
"Think of my mother!" pleaded the wild boy. "Think of our family---one
of the most respectable in town. Think of-----"
"Oh, you're enough to make one tired," broke in Dave Darrin,
in deep disgust. "You thought of Dick Prescott when you put up
the job to have him arrested as a burglar, didn't you?"
"Why, what do you mean? I didn't do anything to Dick Prescott,"
shouted Drayne angrily, or affecting to be angry.
"Tell that to the marines," quoth Darrin contemptuously. "It
was through following on your trail, Drayne, that I discovered
the whole trick, and also knew just where to take the police to
find you."
An hour later Chief Simmons was well satisfied that he had laid
the burglar scare in Gridley.
Not that the new chief had had so very much to do with the result,
either.
The first move had been to get back to the Kahn store, where Dick
Prescott was promptly freed, with the chief's hearty apologies.
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