“Then I’ll hand you over to the police the first chance I get. I can tell them a fine story about you.”
At that instant a shadow fell across my window, and looking up, we saw four men approaching the mill. They were Constable Pointer, President Webster of the Bayport Bank, and two strangers.
“Constable Pointer!” I exclaimed, as the quartet filed in.
“Ha!” cried Mr. Norton, and I saw him turn pale. “What do you men want here?”
“Reuben, we want you,” said the constable, as he placed his hand on my shoulder.
“Want me!” I cried, starting back.
“Exactly.”
“About that boat matter?” I asked.
“No, not about any boat matter,” put in President Webster. “Constable, I demand that the boy be searched.”