coat?"

"We have no right to do that," said another.

"It's out of our hands now," Westy said.

Then spoke Pee-wee Harris out of his staunch, sturdy little heart, "I
don't care--I don't care what you say--he didn't do it. Lots of people
look like other people. Because anyway I know he didn't do it. Remember
about that robin."

"How about the label, Kid?"

Pee-wee had not time to answer this poser for along the road came the
ambulance, pell-mell. Surely, the boys thought, Artie could not have
spoken of Blythe's identity over the 'phone, yet following the ambulance
came the touring car of Bridgeboro's police department with the chief in
it, the policeman chauffeur, a couple of other men, and county detective
Ferrett. A couple of other cars, too, came lagging behind, in deference
to the speed laws, doubtless lured thither by the sonorous gong of the
ambulance and the imposing official display.

Pretty soon Artie came along scout pace. The scene of the pleasant
little scout camp was presently overrun by aimless sojourners in private
cars, who gathered about awaiting the actions of the high and mighty.

The surgeon in spotless white examined Blythe and said little. When one
of the scouts ventured to ask him if the injuries would prove fatal he
said, "Not necessarily."

"Who is this fellow anyway?" the Bridgeboro chief asked.

"He's a fellow that's hurt," Doc Carson answered rather dryly.

"Belong around here?"

"He was working here and we were helping him," Westy said.

"What's his name?"

"Blythe."

"What do you boys know about this chap?"

No one answered this question. The boys felt nervous, uncertain what to
say. The one person present who was quite oblivious to all this official
nonsense at such a time was the one whom it most concerned, Blythe. He
lay stark upon his balsam couch with the blessing of unconsciousness
upon him. The surgeon, with a few words and much quiet show of
efficiency, knelt by him, heedless of these official busybodies. What
hint he had of possible crime none could say. But they were like
vultures.

"Where's the fire department?" Warde Hollister ventured to ask a brother
scout.

At this point the surgeon with gentle deftness removed the victim's
faded, threadbare coat, and threw it upon the ground. With the
promptness of sudden discovery county detective Ferrett picked it up. He
held it distastefully, as one holds a thing infected. To the boys his
act seemed like an insult