“Who was he?” demanded Greg, breathlessly.

“I don’t know,” Dick admitted.  “I’d give a small part of the earth to know and be sure about it.”

That admission of ignorance was a most unfortunate one.  Tip Scammon heard it, and the fellow grinned inwardly over knowing that his late companion had not been recognized.

“What are we going to do with this fellow, Dick?” asked Dave.

“I’m wondering whether he ought to be arrested or not,” Dick replied.  “Fellows, I feel mighty sorry for Tip’s father.”

And well might all three feel sorry.  So, far as was known, this crime against Dick was the first offense Tip had committed against the law.  He was a tough character, and regarded as one of the worse than worthless young men of Gridley.  Tip was a handy fellow, a jack-of-all-trades, with several at which he might have made an honest living—–­but he wouldn’t.  Yet Tip’s father was old John Scammon, the highly respected janitor at the High School, where he had served for some forty years.

“I say, fellows, I wonder if we can let Tip go—–­now that we know the whole story?” breathed Dick.

“Say, I’ll make it worth yer while,” proposed Tip, eagerly.

“How about the law?” asked Dave Darrin, seriously.  “Have we any right to let the fellow go, when we know he has committed a serious crime?”

“I don’t know,” replied Prescott.  “All I’m thinking of is good, honest old John Scammon.”

“It’d break me old man’s heart—–­sure it would,” put in Tip, cunningly.

At the first cry from Belle and Laura Bentley, however Mrs. Meade, who was also in the secret, had hurried down into Clark Street.  Just as it happened she had espied a policeman less than a block away.  That officer, posted by Mrs. Meade, now came hurrying down the alleyway.

“Oho!  Tip, is it?” demanded the policeman.  “Let him up, Darrin.  I can handle him.  Now, then, what’s the row about?”

Thereupon Dick and his chums had to tell the story.  There was no way out of it.  Officer Connors heard a little of it, then decided: 

“The station house is the place to tell the rest of this.  Come along, Tip.  And you youngsters trail along behind.”

Though the station house was not far away, a good-sized crowd was trailing along by the time they reached the business stand of the police.  Tip was hustled in through the doorway, the three young freshmen following.  Leaning over the railing, smoking and chatting with the sergeant at the desk, was plain clothes man Hemingway.

“Hullo,” muttered that latter officer, “what’s this?”

“A slice out of one of your cases, I guess, Hemingway, from what I’ve heard,” laughed Connors.  “According to these boys, Tip is the fellow who knows the inside game of the High School thefts.”

“Let’s have Scammon in the back room, then,” urged Hemingway, leading the way to the guard room.  The sergeant, also, followed, after summoning a reserve policeman to the desk.