The detective cut the bonds and Jimmie stepped down from the truck.
"Hold on there," a policeman intervened, taking the boy by the arm. "You're wanted at headquarters."
Jimmie offered no resistance. Handcuffs were slipped over his wrists.
"Oh, Dad, don't let them do that!" Penny pleaded. "He isn't really a criminal."
"Who is this boy, Penny?" the detective asked again.
"Now I begin to understand a few things which weren't clear to me before. Why our raid failed, for instance."
"I don't believe Jerome Davis is implicated with the gang," Penny insisted. "Can't you let this boy go free? If it becomes generally known that he is the son of a policeman it will do so much harm."
"We can't favor him on that account, Penny."
"I realize that, but he's innocent. At least his worst crime was to drive the truck which contained the stolen tires. He only did that because Brunner threatened him."
"Yes, I am. I overheard Brunner quarreling with him."
Penny then began a rapid account of all that she had witnessed at the old sawmill. Several of the policemen gathered near to hear the story. Brunner, handcuffed to an officer, listened intently to her words.
"It's all a lie," he interrupted. "This Davis boy is the son of an old friend of mine. Because I thought so much of his father I came here tonight to try to save the boy from his own folly. I pleaded with him to give up his career of crime--"
"And why were you found in the company of Rap Molberg?" Mr. Nichols questioned severely.
"Never mind," the detective cut him short. "You can explain it to the judge."
While Brunner, Molberg and the men who had been captured with them were being loaded into police cars, an automobile was observed coming toward the lane which led to the sawmill.
"Block the road," Mr. Nichols ordered. "It may be more of the gang."
A police car was turned crosswise in the highway. The oncoming automobile stopped just in time to avoid a crash. Officers instantly surrounded the car.
Penny, crowding near recognized the driver as Jerome Davis. Beside him crouched his daughter, Betty.
"What is the meaning of this?" Mr. Davis demanded.
His eyes swept the group and came to rest upon his own son who was in the custody of an officer.
"Jimmie!" he exclaimed. His shoulders sagged; his hands fell from the steering wheel. "I see I am too late," he murmured.