"I wasn't so much afraid of them chasing us," said Bob. "What worries me is that probably they know who we are now, and consequently we won't be safe no matter where we are." "I guess we'll have to report to the police." "If we do I hope they treat us better than that detective did." "I hope so, too," laughed Hugh. "At any rate we'll ask your father." "You are coming to our house for luncheon, you know." "Yes." "We can talk it over with father then." They arrived at the Cook residence without further adventure or mishap. They left their bicycles in the garage, and then started for the house. Half-way across the lawn they met Mr. Cook. "Well, boys," he said, plainly relieved at seeing them safely back, "what luck?" "Feel my head," said Bob, removing his cap. Mr. Cook did so. "Whew!" he exclaimed. "Where did you get that?" Bob related the story of their experiences that morning. Mr. Cook offered no comment until he had finished. "This looks serious," he said at length. "It's too bad you got such a bump from a detective, a man on your own side." "What do you think of our seeing Mr. Wernberg?" asked Hugh. Mr. Cook's face clouded and he shook his head. "I was afraid of him," he said. "What shall we do about it?" Bob inquired. "I think we'd better report it to the police, and do it soon, too." He looked at his watch. "We've got time before luncheon," he exclaimed. "Was Heinrich in the garage?" "No, sir." "How about the car?" "That's there all right." "Well, come along then," exclaimed Mr. Cook. "We'll get it and go straight down to police headquarters now." "Don't you think our friend the detective will make a report?" asked Hugh. "Possibly. Still, as Bob says, those men are sometimes very jealous and he might not tell the whole story, particularly about what you did." A few moments later all three were on their way to the police station. Bob's old friend, Sergeant Riley, was still behind the desk and gave them a jovial greeting. "Yez haven't got no Germans for me, have yez?" he demanded. "No," said Mr. Cook, "we haven't, but we can tell you where to get some." "Sounds interesting," said the sergeant laying aside his pen and carefully blotting the sheet of paper on which he had been writing. "Tell me about it." "Go ahead, Bob," his father urged. "Tell your story, and first of all let Sergeant Riley feel the bump on your head. That'll convince him." "It would indade," exclaimed the sergeant, after examining the swelling on Bob's head. "Not that I'd ever doubt anything a son of yours told me, Misther Cook." Bob related the events of that day to Sergeant Riley. The police officer listened attentively and interestedly until Bob came to the part about the detective. As he began to tell of that the sergeant started perceptibly. "A detective, yez said?" he demanded. "Yes," said Bob, "he had a badge on." "Can yez describe him?"