“Thank goodness! My automobile broke down on my way here; strikers been tampering with it, I suppose, and I was delayed in finding a taxicab. We’ll go to my house for breakfast and then to the boat.”
The boys, however, made no move, looking quizzically from the stranger to the officers, evidently determined not to walk into a second trap.
“You needn’t be afraid of Mr. Atwood; he’s one of the Admiral’s owners,” smiled the sergeant.
“By Jove! I was so alarmed seeing you boys with these officers that I have forgotten to introduce myself. I am Arthur Atwood, one of Bronson’s partners. I received a wire from him, and also one from Tom Blair last night, telling me you were coming and to meet you—which I should have done if my machine had not broken down.”
“We are sorry to have put you to such inconvenience, Mr. Atwood,” said Phil.
“Don’t mention it. I’d do anything for Bronson and Blair. Sergeant, just bring those bundles down to my taxi, if you don’t mind.”
Willingly the officers obeyed, and soon the boys, their host, and their belongings were safely in the taxicab.
“Like to have one of us ride on the box, Mr. Atwood?” asked the sergeant, as the chauffeur cranked up.
“No, I thank you. I have one of my own men driving;” and the machine dashed away, defying all speed laws.
The policemen, however, went along the sidewalk until their appearance dispersed a crowd that had gathered watching the ship-owner and the boys depart, their presence insuring a safe passage to the taxicab.