“Slugger probably had a wild ride getting to a telephone,” remarked Rogers. “He certainly got his gang together in quick time; I’ll say that much for him.”
“We’d better follow Slade’s plan of getting to the nearest telephone,” decided Ned. “We can call the authorities at Cleveland and let them come out here to take charge of things from now on.”
“Sure! That’s the idea! And while we’re waiting for ’em, we’ll have time to rustle some breakfast!” chirped Tommy Beals, his round face suddenly regaining its customary cheerfulness.
“Before we go, let’s roll up this canvas and stow it inside,” suggested Dick. “The secret is ours and maybe we can make some use of it later.”
It required but a few minutes to return the canvas to its niche in the cellar, and after swinging the stone slab into place against the possibility of prying eyes, the boys climbed into the car and set out for Cedar Hollow, whose single gasoline station was adorned with the blue bell of telephone service. While Ned was closeted in the booth, the others, led by the resourceful Beals, foraged for food at a neighboring farmhouse with such success that a plentiful breakfast of homely fare was soon in readiness.
“There’s a squad of plain clothes men on the way,” reported Ned, as he took his place at the table. “The chief didn’t more than half-believe me when I told him we had trapped a gang of rum-runners. He’s from Missouri, but we’re going to show him!”
Had Ned realized the resourcefulness of Latrobe or taken into consideration the latter’s intimate knowledge of the old mine and its contents, he might have been a bit less confident regarding his ability to make good his boast; but for the time being, he continued to eat his breakfast in happy ignorance of what was, even then, taking place out at Coleson’s.
Hardly had the meal been disposed of when a big, blue automobile whirled into the little settlement and stopped with a squeal of brakes in front of the gasoline station. A tall, official-looking man sprang to the ground and advanced to meet the boys who came hurrying from the house.
“I’m Inspector Baker,” the newcomer introduced himself crisply. “Now then, what’s this story about a gang of boot-leggers that you’ve got locked in a cave somewhere out here?” and the officer ran his eye over the group in a manner that boded ill, should it appear that he had been trifled with.
“They’re not in a cave; they’re in the old copper mine out at Coleson’s,” explained Ned, who in a few words detailed the main facts of the situation.