"Oh, it is, it is!" cried Betty, springing to her feet and fairly dancing in her excitement and impatience. "Oh, I can't wait! Why doesn't he hurry?"
As a matter of fact, the sergeant was hurrying very much indeed, for he was almost as eager as the girls to see the old lady and collect the evidence in the case against the motorcyclist.
He was panting as he sprang up the steps toward them and his eyes were bright with anticipation.
"I got back as soon as I could," he cried. "Now, if you can take me—"
The girls wasted no time in words, and led him swiftly up the stairs, pausing before Mrs. Sanderson's door.
"What shall we do if she's gone?" whispered Betty, a sudden panic seizing her. Then, without further delay, rapped smartly on the door.
At the answering "come in" they tumbled into the room, followed by Sergeant Mullins. Then it was the second miracle happened!
Mrs. Sanderson started, stared, then rose tremblingly to her feet.
"My Willie boy!" she cried, groping toward him, dazed, unbelieving, incredulous. "It's my boy, my little son—my—baby—"
Then Sergeant Mullins, with a hoarse cry, rushed across the room and gathered the little figure in his arms—strong, man's arms that crushed and hurt.