"Well," demanded Mr. Davidson, after a pause, "what am I going to tell the police when they come?"
"Try to head 'em off," suggested his nephew.
The master of the house accepted the suggestion and moved toward the telephone. As he lifted the instrument the bell began ringing.
"Well?" he asked, the receiver at his ear. "Yes, it's Mr. Davidson. What? Say it again. Richardson? Who— Oh, yes. I understand—yes.
"Tried to get Witherbee? Yes, he's here; we're all here. Yes, Mr. Morton is here, too.
"What's that? Well, what do you know about that?
"Huh? Sure!
"What? Yes; I'll tell him.
"Oh, certainly! It'll be all right. Glad you got him. Congratulations! Yeh—fine! Uh-huh! All—right!"
He replaced the instrument on the table.