"Hullo," muttered that latter officer, "what's this?"
"A slice out of one of your cases, I guess, Hemingway, from what I've heard," laughed Connors. "According to these boys, Tip is the fellow who knows the inside game of the High School thefts."
"Let's have Scammon in the back room, then," urged Hemingway, leading the way to the guard room. The sergeant, also, followed, after summoning a reserve policeman to the desk.
Then followed a sharp grilling by the keen, astute Hemingway. Dick and his chums told what they had heard Tip say before they pounced upon him. Tip, who was a round-headed, short, square-shouldered fellow of twenty-four, possessed more of the cunning of the prize ring than the cleverness of the keen thief.
"I've been caught with the packages on me," he admitted, bluntly, and with some show of bravado. "I guess I can't get outer delivering 'em."
"Then you stole that pin and the gold watch from the locker at the High School?" demanded Hemingway, swiftly.
"Yep."
"How did you get into the locker room?" shot out Hemingway.
"Guess!" leered Tip, exhibiting some cheap bravado.
"Maybe I can find the answer in your clothes," retorted the plain clothes man. "Stand still."