The tension was relieved, as all laughed.
Then Inspector Burton conducted the chums into a high-ceilinged office lined with books, looking more like a student’s library than the office of the head of
the nation’s great super-police force. A small man, compactly built, with a close-clipped gray mustache, rose from a desk and advanced to meet them.
“Well, well, so these are the young heroes,” he said, grasping each in turn firmly by the hand as the introductions were managed.
Then he stood back and took a long look at them, a twinkle in his eye at the mounting color and embarrassed manner of the trio.
“I’d hate to meet any one of you in a rough-and-tumble fight,” he said. “No wonder you made things fly on the Pacific.”
All sat down then and a general conversation about the break-up of the smugglers’ ring followed. The boys learned that “Black George” and Wong Ho were in jail, awaiting trial, that three boats employed in the smuggling traffic had been captured, that Mexico had been asked and had agreed to prosecute the conspirators operating at Ensenada, that three employees of the government were under arrest for conspiracy in the smuggling operations, and that Matt Murphy was free on parole and the case against him would not be pushed.
Finally, Inspector Burton arose and the boys took that as a signal it was time to depart, and also got to their feet.
“I know of no way to reward you except to give you the thanks of the Service,” said the Chief at parting. “But that is yours. Good-by.”
“Wow,” said Frank, when they were alone at their hotel once more, “I feel as if I owned the world.”