When Mr. Swift followed the chief of police and the constable to the town hall his mind was filled with many thoughts. All his plans for revolutionizing submarine travel, were, of course, forgotten, and he was only concerned with the charge that had been made against his son. It seemed incredible, yet the officers were not ones to perpetrate a joke. The chief and constable had driven from town in a carriage, and they now invited the inventor to ride back with them.
"Do you mean to tell me a warrant has actually been sworn out against my son, Chief?" asked the father, when they were near the town hall.
"That's just what I mean to say, Mr. Swift, and, I'm sorry, on your account, that I have to serve it."
"Hub! Don't look like you was goin' to serve it," remarked the constable. "He's skipped out."
"That's all right, Higby," went on the chief. "I'll catch em both. Even if they have escaped in an airship with their booty, I'll nab 'em. I'll have a general alarm out all over the country in less than an hour. They can't stay up in the air forever."
"A warrant for Tom—my son," murmured Mr. Swift, as if he could not believe it.
"Yes, and for that Damon man, too," added the chief. "I want him as well as Tom, and I'll get 'em."
"Would you mind letting me see the warrants?" asked the inventor, and the official passed them over. The documents were made out in regular form, and the complaints had been sworn to by Isaac Pendergast, the bank president.
"I can't understand it," went on Tom's father. "Seventy-five thousand dollars. It's incredible! Why!" he suddenly exclaimed, "it can't be true. Just before he left, Mr. Damon—"
"Yes, what did he do?" asked the chief eagerly, thinking he might secure some valuable evidence.