Dave Brandon smiled languidly.
“In spite of ourselves, we seem destined to have fame pushed upon us,” he exclaimed. “It looks as though something is rocking the pedestal.”
“We are too polite not to accept such a pressing invitation,” grinned Bob Somers.
“All the same, I’ll bet we can sue somebody for this!” cried Victor. “My father’s best friend is a United States senator, and he——”
A series of crisp, vibrating notes from the motor drowned his voice. The car moved forward, and, always under the watchful eye of the law, as represented in the person of the man in uniform, chugged its way around the corner, to presently come to a stop before a building of a dark, unpleasantly grim appearance.
“We know where we’re going, and we’re on our way!” cried Dave. “All of us wanted in there, officer?”
“Oh, yes. We won’t steal your car,” grinned the policeman. “Kindly step out.”
They followed the officer up a broad flight of stone steps, pushed past a pair of swinging doors and entered a large square room. At one end two desks stood on a platform with an ornamental railing in front.
Several policemen lounging on a bench looked up with interest as the crowd marched across the floor. A large, stout man, with iron gray hair and mustache sitting behind one of the desks glanced inquiringly at the officer.
“These are the boys mentioned in the telegram, sergeant,” explained the policeman. “Description of the one that’s wanted just fits.”