"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?"
"Well," said Bob, "he was a man about five feet seven inches tall; he had
dark hair and a close-cut black mustache.
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