"If you keep on Clair Bay, we will."
"And if we don't, you won't, that's it, hey? You've given us an ul-ti-ma-tum, as they say, when big words are sprung on us. All right, Somers, we'll think it over, and let you know. Come on, Kirky; Ted may need these pills."
"What's the matter with Pollock?"
"Oh, he got sick yesterday. Ate some of Hackett's cooking. Must say it was a narrow escape. We'll see you later." And with a wave of his hand, Nat and his companion moved off.
"Wingate's a queer fellow," declared Bob; "we wouldn't have him in our club, yet he turns around and wants us to come in with his. It's funny; I never thought Nat was that kind of a fellow."
"Oh, I'll bet Wingate is up to something," said Sam; "thinks, maybe, that he is smart enough to play some trick on us. Nat will bear watching. Smooth, just like his uncle."
Clair Bay, while not a large town, possessed several handsome buildings, but the boys found that the police station was not among the number. It stood just off a main thoroughfare. A flight of steps led up to a rather wide, but dingy-looking entrance.
"Glad we don't have to stay here long," observed Sam, with a grimace.
They pushed open the door and entered. Before them was a square room, lighted by two large windows. Three benches occupied as many sides, while in one corner stood a railing and desk.
Within the enclosure sat an elderly, gray-haired official. He looked up as the boys entered.