"Great Scott!" snapped Bartlett. "What do you want next? My age? My number is on the back of my car. I have so many cars I have forgotten it. Go and look, or ask my man. Alphonse, what’s the number on the back?" "97411," droned Alphonse coldly. "Be both these cars yours?" asked the man, puzzled and a bit disappointed. "That car," said the general pompously, "is mine. Allow me." He drew his card-case from his pocket, and to the tall man’s consternation and Bartlett’s horror, presented him with his card. The two withdrew and consulted a moment. Clearly the family party before them was not the young man wanted in Wilton for stealing a motor-car and a suit of clothes, but for all that, what were they doing in an empty house? "We can arrest ’em and get a fine anyway," said the taller of the two, and the other agreed. The Watermelon leaned forward with languid interest, his hat on the back of his head. "How d’ye do?" he drawled. "What are you doing with the popguns?" "Hunting," grinned the spokesman pleasantly. "Any luck?" asked the Watermelon. "Bet cher life!" said the man. "Got what we were after." "Bear?" asked the Watermelon innocently. "Autos," said the man. "Sir," began the general. He felt a pressure on his shoulder so firm, that, irritated, he turned to remonstrate with Henrietta. One could not explain the situation with any degree of pride in the first place, still less so, if some one behind were apparently endeavoring to suppress one. The Watermelon frowned. "We weren’t breaking any speed limit, unless the snail is the standard you regulate your speed laws by." The men no longer believed that they had caught the thief, but if they insisted on taking the party before a magistrate, each would have to give his name. With the general present, fictitious names would only be so much waste of breath, and the Watermelon had no desire to give his assumed name to any one in the employ of the law. "Naw," sneered the man, spitting with gusto. "There’re other things to break besides speed laws." "Yes," agreed the Watermelon, "your empty head." "Now, don’t get sassy," warned the man, growing angry. "I’m an officer of the law and I’m not going to take any of your sass." "An officer of the law can’t arrest a law-abiding citizen," snapped the Watermelon with righteous indignation. "Law-abiding?" jeered the man. "What have we done?" "Try to guess," suggested the man pleasantly and the other laughed. "I can’t guess," said the Watermelon. "Is it for riding through the cow lane? We didn’t hurt the lane any. I rode through this same lane last summer and the Browns didn’t kick up any row over it. In fact, they were with me, that is, Dick and Lizzie were." The man stared and the Watermelon frowned coldly. "Do you know the Browns?" demanded the fellow.