"Something is wrong!" Mr. Nichols exclaimed, abruptly leaving the sedan from which he had been watching. "It looks to me like a tip-off."
A few minutes after her father had disappeared into the café, Penny saw the policemen load perhaps six or seven prisoners into the waiting cars. But it was apparent even to her that the raid had failed. The persons arrested obviously were not members of the Molberg gang.
Mr. Nichol's face was dark when he came back to the sedan. Without a word he started the engine and drove rapidly off.
"What happened?" Penny asked timidly.
"Oh, the usual," the detective snapped. "It was a tip-off. Only a few persons were in the café and the clubrooms to the rear were completely deserted. Not a scrap of evidence. We'll have to release all the prisoners."
"Where are we going now, Dad?"
"To the Hamilton Plant. There's just a chance that the raid there was more successful, though I doubt it."
"Who could have carried the information?" Penny inquired.
"I don't know. That's what bothers me. Penny, you're certain you never dropped a word of this?"
"Why, of course not!"