A feeling of relief swept over Paul. He wanted to jump into the air and shout for joy. Even though he was a modest boy, he had to pat himself on the back; thus far, all his suspicions and deductions had been correct. He would certainly make a good detective. The captain was waiting for him to say something and he commented, “But we really don’t know any more than we told you, Captain Bob. If there is anything the boys and I can do to help you, such as help check up on your suspicions—that is if you have any—we would be glad to do so.”
The old man chuckled. “You are a smart one, my boy. I know that you have something up your sleeve. But never mind.”
Paul felt his face going red. He must not give anything away, he thought. Out loud, he said, “But really, Captain, we don’t. We don’t know as much as you do, if as much.”
“Well, never mind. And,—er,—forget about my following you. I meant no harm.”
“I’m sure of that,” replied the boy. “And it is perfectly all right.”
“Good night, my boy.”
“Good night, Captain Bob.”
Paul watched the man disappear around the corner. And just as he started to cross the street, two figures darted out toward him, “Well?” cried Ken.
Paul put a finger to his lips. “Sh!” he cautioned.