"If you're talking about Myra Dexter, guess again," laughed young Prescott. "Here she is now."
Three astounded policemen turned to regard the happy-faced Grammar School boys.
"Then she wasn't stolen at all?" demanded one of the patrolmen. "Just strolled away and got lost, eh?"
"Oh, no!" Dick retorted. "Myra was stolen, all right; but we stole her back again."
"How?"
"We took her away from her father and a cab-driver," chuckled Greg Holmes.
"Stop telling us any nonsense like that," interposed the lieutenant sternly. "Tell us where you found the child."
Dick related the story briefly. The policemen were at first inclined to doubt the story, but one of them glanced outside and saw the cab.
"If you'll let me offer a suggestion," went on Dick, "there's a mother at home who is nearly crazy with grief. Hadn't you better call Mrs. Dexter on the telephone and tell her that Myra is safe with you?"
The lieutenant quickly wheeled to his 'phone, calling for Mrs. Dexter's number. One of the policemen, in the meantime, received Myra in his arms.