He had no idea which way Mr. Hatfield had gone. However, it seemed to him that the house most likely to have a telephone, was a large white one a quarter of a mile farther on toward town.
Dan was midway there when he saw a state trooper’s car approaching. His heart leaped. Help, he thought, was at hand.
Even before the boy signaled, the car came to a grinding halt a short distance away. Two state troopers were in the front seat, with Mr. Hatfield sitting between them.
“Get in, Dan,” the Cub leader said, as the door swung open. “What happened at the shack?”
“On to Mrs. Jones’ place,” one of the state troopers declared, shifting gears. “We’ll get the fellow!”
As the car swung into the farmyard a few minutes later, Mrs. Jones met the group at the door.
“I’m glad you got here!” she said in relief. “That tramp has been making a frightful fuss in the cellar. We were afraid he would break down the door.”
The troopers decided to accost the man from the outside exit, rather than subjecting the Cubs to possible gunfire.
With weapons drawn, the two officers flung wide the double cellar doors.
“Come out or we’ll shoot!” the order was given.
The Cubs thought the tramp might defy the officers. However, in a moment he came out of his dark hole, hands raised.
Officer Peterson snapped a pair of handcuffs over the man’s wrists and marched him into the house.
“Carl Blakemore.” The tramp blinked owlishly, his gaze roving from one face to another.
“You’ve been living in a shack near here?”
“I’ve been sleeping there nights,” the man muttered.
“You’re under arrest for stealing money from the home of Sam Hatfield. Anything to say?”
“Not a thing,” the tramp muttered. Then he suddenly changed his mind. “Yes, I have too!” he announced. “I know you’ll take me to jail, so I may as well tell you the whole story. Not that you’ll believe me!”
“All right, I stole the money,” the tramp frankly admitted. “The first place I took it from was the Merrimac house.”
“Then he was telling the truth when he said he’d lost a strongbox!” Dan exclaimed. “The other claimants were false.”
“It was Merrimac’s money,” the tramp confirmed. “What’s more, except for twenty-five dollars I used to live on, every cent of it is still here in the box.”