"But it did look bad when you beat it--about two jumps ahead of the
police, at that. You see Fred was along with the man that was shot,
and being in the garage and around automobiles all the time, he
thought to read the number of your car, and remembered it; near enough
anyway, so that he knew for sure it was the Singleton Corey car by the
make and general appearance of it, and identified it positively when
he saw it in your garage. And that did make it look bad!"

"What did mother do when they--?" Jack did not look up while he
stammered the question that had been three months feeding his
imagination with horrors.

"Why, she didn't do anything. She went right away, that very morning,
to a sanitarium and would not see anybody but her own private nurse
and her own private doctor. They gave out bulletins about how she
slept and what she had for breakfast, and all that. But, believe me,
brother, they didn't get any dope from her! She just simply would not
be interviewed!"

Jack let out a long breath and sat up. At the corners of his mouth
there lurked the temptation to smile. "That's mother--true to form,"
he muttered admiringly.

"Of course, they scouted around and got most of the boys that were
with you, but they couldn't get right down to brass tacks and prove
anything except that they were with you at the beach. They're still
holding them on bail or something, I believe. You know how those
things kind of drop out of the news. There was a big police scandal
came along and crowded all you little bandits off the front page. But