"I think it's time the police did something about it," Susan said somewhat crossly. "We're up against a tough gang, Miss. Our force is small and we can't place a man on every street corner." As the officer continued to make out his report, a girl came running toward the little group. She was about Penny's age, though much thinner. Her black hair blew in the wind, unrestrained by hat or beret. "Oh, Father!" she cried in agitation. The policeman turned quickly around. "Why, Betty, what brings you here?" he questioned in surprise. "I've been following you for two blocks," the girl said breathlessly. "I wanted to----" Her voice trailed off. She had noticed Susan and Penny. Slowly her eyes swept over the dismantled car, then they roved to her father with an expression which was akin to panic. "What was it you wanted, Betty?" he asked. "It doesn't matter now," she stammered. She added tensely: "Father, you're not making out a report!" "Certainly, I am." "Don't do it," the girl pleaded, gripping his arm. "You know what it may mean. Please, for my sake!" Penny and Susan exchanged a quick glance. They were at a loss to understand the girl's strange attitude. Why should she be so troubled because her father was writing out a routine report of a theft? To their relief, the policeman laughed carelessly and went on making out the report. "You're hysterical, Betty," he accused. "Come, get a grip upon yourself." "I'm sorry," the girl murmured, glancing nervously at Penny and Susan. "I shouldn't have made such a request." "My daughter is very excitable," the officer said apologetically. "She didn't really mean what she said." There was an awkward pause. Penny turned to the girl and questioned kindly: "Haven't I seen you somewhere? Your face is familiar." "I've watched you swim at the Y.W.C.A. pool. You dive beautifully too." "Oh, I remember you now! But I don't know your name." "I am Betty Davis. You've already met my father." "Jerome Davis," the officer added. "Just a sidewalk pounder." The girls smiled at the disparaging remark. Penny mentioned her own name. "You're not related to Christopher Nichols?" the officer asked. "Yes, I am his daughter." "You don't say! Well, I am glad to make your acquaintance. Down at the station they think a lot of your father." "He was on the force many years ago, I believe," Penny said politely. "That was before my time, but I'm always hearing about him. He's solved some difficult cases that have baffled our best detectives." Penny made a perfunctory response and the officer turned to his daughter. "Betty, you shouldn't be out alone so late at night. You must go back home at once." "If you live nearby I'll be glad to take you in my car," Penny offered. "I shouldn't like to trouble you," the girl said hastily. "My home is only a few blocks away." "It will be no trouble at all," Penny insisted, opening the door of her roadster. "Do let me give you a lift."