“How are you, boys?” Sergeant Billings said heartily.
He began to pose friendly but pointed questions which Brad and Dan answered to the best of their abilities.
“Don’t worry about finding the rightful owner of the box,” he reassured them. “We’ll get to the bottom of it in short order. By the way, you didn’t happen to find a blackjack or a pair of brass knuckles along side of the box did you?”
“Oh, no, sir!” Dan returned, surprised by the question.
“It might be smart to let that impression get around,” the sergeant chuckled. “Catch on?”
“You mean if folks thought that by claiming the box they would tangle with the law, they might not be so quick to say it was theirs?” Brad demanded.
“That’s the idea, kid.”
“I don’t want the Cubs to become involved any further in this matter,” Mr. Hatfield said, speaking decisively. “That’s why I called police. I want to be rid of the box and all responsibility.”
“Fair enough,” rejoined Sergeant Billings. “Just lead me to the box. I can’t guarantee though, that you won’t have the newspaper reporters on your neck when this story gets out. I’ll have to make a report, you know.”
“I suppose so,” Mr. Hatfield admitted, leading the way to the house. “Well, keep the Cubs out of it as much as possible.”