Part 13 (1/2)
”We couldn't see, sir,” replied Amy. ”They just had an electric torch and they lighted it only twice. We could just see two pairs of legs and that was all. And a stick.”
”A stick?”
”I think it was a shovel,” said Clint.
”Were the lights on the car lighted all this time?”
”No, sir, they put them out.”
”Could you see the car enough to say whether it was a big one or a little one?”
”No, sir,” said Clint, ”but I have an idea it was sort of small. The engine sounded like it.”
”Suppose you give me your names.” They did so and the Chief took off the telephone receiver again. ”h.e.l.lo! Get me Brimfield Academy at Brimfield. This is Chief Carey. I want to talk with the president--”
”Princ.i.p.al, sir,” whispered Amy.
”With the princ.i.p.al.” A minute or two pa.s.sed in silence. Then: ”h.e.l.lo,”
said the Chief. ”Is this Brimfield Academy? Well, who am I talking to, please? Mr. Ferner? Fernald?” He looked questioningly at Clint and Clint nodded his head. ”Well, this is the Chief of Police at Wharton. Have you got two boys at your school named Clinton Thayer and Amory Byrd, Mr.
Fernald? Have, eh? Are they there now?... I see. Well, I guess I've got them here.... No, no, nothing like that. There's been a robbery here and the boys seem to think they have a clue to it. I wanted to find out if they were all right. Yes, they're right here. Certainly, sir.”
The Chief held out the telephone and Clint took it.
”Mr. Fernald? This is Thayer, sir. We're awfully sorry, sir, but we got lost last night and had to sleep in a hut near here and we've only just got here a little while ago. We are coming right back, sir.”
”How did you happen to get lost?” asked the princ.i.p.al's voice.
Clint explained as best he could.
”Byrd is there with you?”
”Yes, sir. Do you want to speak to him?”
”No. Get back here as soon as you can and come and see me at once. I want this explained a little better, Thayer. That's all. You're not--um--you're not in trouble with the police?”
”No, sir.”
”All right. Get back on the first train.”
Clint sighed with relief as he returned the telephone to the desk.
”Was he very waxy?” asked Amy anxiously.
”Not very, I reckon,” Clint replied. ”He wants us to beat it back and see him at once.”
”I can scarcely restrain my eagerness,” murmured Amy.
”What train were you thinking of taking?” asked the Chief, drawing the telephone toward him again.
”They said there was one at nine-forty-six,” replied Clint, ”but this--this officer says it doesn't stop at Brimfield.”
”We'll soon find out, boys.” The Chief consulted a time-table and nodded. ”Brimfield at ten-fifteen.” He looked at the big clock on the wall. ”Seven-forty-five,” he muttered. ”I guess we can make it.” He put the receiver to his ear once more. ”Operator? Wharton, 137-M, please.