The three boys held their silence, taking their cue from their leader, Garry.
"Won't talk, eh, well we'll make you open your mouth in a hurry," and the officer advanced on the boys.
Just what steps he would have taken will never be known, for the physician, who was the city coroner, interposed.
"That will do, Murphy. You have just told these boys they were under arrest, and you have failed to give them warning that anything they may say can be used against them. You are barking up the wrong tree anyway. These are no runaways nor young desperadoes. My advice is that you let them go immediately, or else take them to the station and let the chief talk to them. He was still there when we left the house. And, boys, I'll see that you get a lawyer as soon as you get there unless the captain shows more sense than the lieutenant has."
The lieutenant glowered at the coroner. Evidently there was bad blood between them, but he realized that he had overstepped his authority, and was in the wrong, so he ordered everyone present to repair to the station.
The walk to the headquarters of the city police consumed only a few minutes, and soon the boys were standing in the office of the Chief.
"What's all this, Lieutenant Murphy?" he asked.
"There's been foul play of some sort down in that old shack that's used in the wintertime for a lumberjack boarding house. These three boys were there at the time the man died and don't seem to be able to give a satisfactory account of themselves. They have been put under arrest," answered the officer sulkily.
"Well, boys, what have you to say to this," asked the Chief as he swung around on his chair and surveyed the three.
By this time Garry was boiling mad.