"Evarts said it was a new device for killing fish at
wholesale."
"You may be telling the truth," Tom broke in.
"I am," declared the skipper eagerly.
"Then explain it to the court," Reade continued. "If you can prove to a
judge and a jury that you're an honest man, and always have been one, you
may get off on the charge that will be made against you."
"Then you don't believe me?" asked the skipper anxiously.
"It isn't for me to say," Tom replied crisply. "It's a job for a judge
and a jury."
"Then I'm to be a prisoner?"
"That's for the policeman here to say."
"You're a prisoner, my man," nodded the policeman. "Now, sail your boat
into the landing over yonder."
"Some one else will sail it," retorted the skipper, angrily, as he
abandoned his tiller.
"I'll take the tiller," Harry suggested, and did so. He hauled in the
sheet, brought the boat around and headed for the landing with the skill
of an old sailor.
"My man, since you don't want to sail the boat you'll have to go as a real
prisoner," announced the policeman. He produced a pair of handcuffs,
snapping them over the man's wrists.
In a short time Harry brought the sailboat up to the landing.
Pages:
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191