"There's some mistake," faltered Nat.
"Well, I can't chin here all day," said the officer, gruffly; "I was given orders to take you in hand, and in you go."
"Somebody is going to pay for this," blustered Hackett, angrily. "My stars, what can you want with us? We only got here this morning."
The officer reached forward, and grasped the slim youth's arm. "Come right along, Johnny," he commanded; "march."
He pushed him forward, while Hackett fairly boiled with anger. To add to the Nimrods' discomfiture, a large crowd had gathered.
"Just wait until my uncle hears about this," fumed Nat; "somebody is going to catch it, I can tell you."
"The whole bunch pulled in," said Kirk, disconsolately. "This will be pleasant news to the folks at home."
The walk to the police station was decidedly unpleasant, and the Nimrods were glad when the station-house door shut them from the view of the curious crowd.
They soon found themselves facing the man who had received Bob Somers' complaint.
Names were placed on the police blotter. Then the official, resting his elbows on the desk, leaned forward, gazing sternly into Nat Wingate's face.