“What is your dad going to do about it?” asked Bob.
Herb shrugged his shoulders in a helpless gesture.
“What can he do?” he asked. “Except what everybody else has done—inform the police and hope the rascals will be caught. And even if they are caught,” he added, still more gloomily, “it won’t do dad much good, except that he’ll get revenge. The crooks will probably have disposed of all their stolen property before they’re caught.”
“Well, I don’t know,” said Bob hopefully. “Those fellows are getting a little bit too daring for their own good. Some day they’ll go too far and get caught.”
“I hope so. But crooks like that are pretty foxy,” returned Herb, refusing to be cheered. “They’re apt to get away with murder before they’re caught.”
The lads were silent for a moment, trying to think things out, and when Bob spoke he unconsciously put into words something of what his comrades were thinking.
“It seems as if radio ought to be able to help out in a case like this,” he said, with a puzzled frown. “But I must say I don’t see how it can.”
“It can’t,” returned Herb. “If some one had been lucky enough to get a glimpse of one of the thieves, then good old radio would have its chance. We could wireless the description all over the country and before long somebody would make a capture.”
Bob nodded.
“That’s where the cunning of these rascals comes in,” he said. “Either nobody sees them at all, or when they do the thieves are so well disguised by masks that a useful description isn’t possible.”