The officer stared for a moment at Mr. Holton. Then his gaze fell on Bob, who was wondering just what would be the outcome of his misdeed.
“I’m sorry,” the youth apologized. “When I felt you rushing past me so wildly I thought sure you were the thief running away. I should have made sure, though.”
The policeman continued to gaze at Bob.
“Well, all I can say, boy,” he began at last, still rubbing his chin, “is that you whip up a wallop of a punch. You’re the first bird that’s ever put Pat Callahan cold, and that’s something. I ain’t no runt, you know.”
“I hope you’ll forgive me, sir,” Bob said. “I’m terribly sorry.”
“Forget it.” The officer gained his feet. “We’d better be thinking about that thief,” he went on, looking about the basement, “though I suppose he’s miles away from here by now.”
Joe ran hurriedly up the basement steps and dashed on through the house. He reached the front door in but a few seconds, and then looked out over the lawn.
Then he uttered a cry of anger, as he caught sight of the thief running madly toward his automobile.
“Stop!” Joe commanded, running in that direction.
Exerting himself to the utmost, the boy pursued the fleeing man. He was but a short distance away when the latter jumped into his car and started the engine, a moment later shooting away toward the road.