high stool behind the wicket at the steamboat office day in and day out for as many years as any one in Bayport could remember.
"I was just countin' up the mornin's receipts," he was saying, in a frightened and high-pitched voice, "when in comes this fellow and he sticks a revolver in front of my nose—"
"Just a minute," interrupted the chief grandly, as the boys entered. He dipped his pen in the inkwell and poised it in the air, as he peered at the lads over his spectacles.
"What are you boys doing here? Can't you see we're busy?"
"I came to report a theft," said Chet Morton. "My roadster has been stolen."
"Why, it was a roadster this fellow drove up to my office in!" cried Ike Harrity. "A yellow roadster."
"Ha!" said Detective Smuff. "A clue!" He immediately fished a notebook out of his pocket and began rummaging around for a pencil.
"Never mind, Detective Smuff," observed the chief heavily, "I'll take any notes that are needed."
Detective Smuff, duly squelched, put back his notebook in confusion.
"What fellow?" Frank asked. "Who drove up to your office in a yellow roadster?"
"The hold-up man," declared Harrity. "I was held up this morning. A fellow tried
