Clay stepped aside, unwillingly, and the officer stooped down so as to clear the low doorway and brushed into the cabin. His great bulk, his fat red face, his arrogant manner, seemed to reduce the size of the small room by at least half. His helmet was running water, and he removed it and shook the drops over the table.
In a moment he flashed his light around, resting it longest, it seemed to the boys, on the coffee-pot sitting on the electric stove. It seemed to the imaginative Alex that he must see right through the tin to the brown leather bag, and through the folds of the brown leather bag to the stolen diamonds!
Next the policeman felt of Clay’s clothes and sniffed suspiciously when he found them wet. He seemed disappointed when the garments of Case and Alex proved dry to his touch. His face brightened again when he found evidences of recent retreat from the storm in the clothes of the stranger.
“So you are the one who just ducked in here?” he said. “You’re the lad I saw skulking behind the corner of the warehouse beyond not long ago. What?”
The stranger looked the policeman straight in the face with his black eyes, but made no reply. The chums looked on, wondering how they were to get rid of the incriminating coffee-pot.
They felt certain that the officer would make a search of the place and discover the diamonds.
Then they would, in all probability, be hustled off to the police station. They were still anxious about the strange absence of Jule, but, after all, right glad that the boy was not there to share this suspicion.
“Come,” grumbled the officer, shaking the stranger roughly by the shoulder, “the game is up! Give up the diamonds and come along.”
“I haven’t got the diamonds,” faltered the lad. “I don’t know where they are. I’m not a thief. I belong here with these boys.”
The officer turned to Clay, whom he now recognized as one he had often seen about the boat, and of whom he knew nothing discreditable.