“It wouldn’t be a bad idea,” agreed Pop. “We can stop and pick up a railroad detective I know. They’ll be glad of the chance to raid the tramps, for they don’t want them hanging around.”
“Good idea,” announced Joe, who was still puzzling over the manner in which things fitted together, and wondering at the absurdly simple way in which Reggie had appeared on the scene.
The car sped away from the ball field, purring on its silent, powerful way. Pop Dutton gave directions as to the best roads to follow, and a little distance out of Pittston he called a halt, in order that a railroad detective might be summoned.
They found one at a small branch freight station, and this man called a companion, so there were five who proceeded to the rendezvous of the tramps in Shiller’s Woods.
It is not a difficult matter to raid the abiding place of the men, unfortunates if you will, who are known as “hoboes,” and tramps. They are not criminals in the usual sense of the term, though they will descend to petty thievery. Usually they are “pan-handlers,” beggars and such; though occasionally a “yegg-man,” or safe-blower, will throw in his lot with them.
But for the most part the men are low characters, living as best they can, cooking meager meals over a camp fire, perhaps raiding hen-roosts or corn fields, and moving from place to place.
They have no wish to defy police authority, and usually disappear at the first alarm, to travel on to the next stopping place. So there was no fear of any desperate encounter in this raid.
The railroad detectives said as much, and expressed the belief that they would not even have to draw their revolvers.
“We’ll be glad of the chance to clean the rascals out,” said one officer, “for they hang around there, and rob freight cars whenever they get the chance.”
“But we’d like a chance to talk to them—at least to this Hogan,” explained Joe. “We want to find what he did with Mr. Varley’s jewelry.”