Midge, who was fairly familiar with this section of the waterfront, led his companions toward a small warehouse whose corrugated steel door stood slightly ajar.
Inside, an elderly man was taking an inventory of boxes and crates stacked against the wall. A spry, wiry little fellow with white hair and energy that belied his sixty-nine years, he whirled around as he heard the boys enter.
“You startled me,” he chuckled, obviously relieved. “After last night, I’m a mite jumpy.”
The Cubs noticed then that the warehouse man carried a revolver in a holster at his belt.
“I’m Hank Hawkins, at your service,” he announced cheerfully. “What can I do for you youngsters?”
“We’d like a little information about the robbery last night,” Dan spoke up. “We’re not just asking questions out of curiosity. We may have some information for you too.”
“You kids know something about it?”
“We may have seen the boat that pulled away from the pier. We’re not sure. What time did the robbery take place?”
“Say, who are you kids anyhow?” the watchman demanded, without answering the question.
Brad gave his name and introduced his companions, explaining that they were Cub Scouts. “I guess you think we have our nerve barging in like this,” he added. “We read about the fur robbery in the paper, and we want to learn the details.”