At the police station, I had the distinct feeling they'd been waiting for me. I knew most of them, especially the big red-headed guy who beckoned me into a rear office. His name was Thompson--Detective Emanuel Thompson. He always looked as if he wore a football uniform under his dark blue suit. My articles had roasted him plenty. He handled juvenile delinquency cases. "Well, Mr. Potter," he greeted me, smiling tightly, "we meet under unfortunate circumstances." "Can the phony sympathy," I said. "You're not the type. Just let me see my boy." He used a red-and-blue handkerchief to wipe the dampness from his beefy neck. "I think we'd better have a little talk first." "I got no talking to do. This is a lousy frame-up against me and the paper. Get my son out here and do it fast!" * * * * * He put the handkerchief away, sighed and reached for the phone. It really got me when Tommy came into the room. He'd been crying; his face was streaked, and he looked scared and forlorn. "Son," I said, finding it difficult to keep the rasp out of my voice, "if you've got a hat, put it on and let's go." Thompson pulled out his handkerchief again and carefully lowered himself into the chair behind the desk. "You don't seem to understand, Mr. Potter. Your boy is in trouble. He's been identified as leading a gang of kids who spent most of the morning shoplifting in stores all over town." "That's bull," I said. "How could my boy do a thing like that? He's only twelve. Who identified him, anyway?" "The shopkeepers and the other members of the gang." * * * * * For one awful moment, I felt a great cavity of doubt. "Son," I asked, "what's this all about?" Tommy's face creased with fear and tears brimmed his eyes. "It was Ashe," he quavered. "Ashe?" "Yes. I told him about the gang." "Gang?" "The Red Skulls." "What the heck are you talking about?" "Some of the fellows got together and built a hut for a club-house over on the garbage dump. We call ourselves the Red Skulls. I was made leader. I'm called the Skull Cap." "Why haven't I heard about this?" "You never asked, Dad. I tried to tell you one night, but you were hurrying to get to that road-house on the turnpike. You said you had a big lead on juvenile delinquency." "Well, you certainly didn't try very hard," I said angrily. "What was this gang's purpose?" "Oh, different things. One of the fellows has a .22 and we hunt rats. Then--" "Go on." "That's all." "You started to say something else." He kicked at the floor. "Aw, gee!" "Let's have it!" "We smoked." "Smoked!" He nodded. "And what else?" "That's all. Honest!" Thompson said, "What about shoplifting?" "No," sniveled Tommy. "That was Ashe. He wanted me to talk the gang into shoplifting, but I wouldn't. Then he changed himself to look like me and talked the fellows into it when I wasn't around. I only know about it because I ran into them after they'd been in a store...."