Before leaving, Tom said gratefully to Ames, “Thanks, Harlan. You and the police sure came along at the right time!”
Ames explained that he and the two officers had trailed Tom all the way from the plant. “We saw that truck pull out of a side road and go speeding after you.
We figured something sinister was up, so Camp’s partner started leaning on the horn to warn you.”
When they arrived at headquarters, Chief Slater listened with keen interest as Sergeant Camp reported what had happened. The prisoners, still handcuffed, stood by sullenly.
Slater fixed the truck driver with a gimlet-eyed stare. “Shorty Tappan, eh? So now you’re operating around Shopton.”
The driver flushed but said nothing. Evidently he had hoped not to be recognized.
“Who is he?” Tom asked.
“He’s got a police record as a strong-arm man,” the chief explained. “Well, speak up!” Slater snapped. “What’s this all about?”
“Don’t ask us,” Shorty Tappan replied. “Your
NIPPING A PLOT 69
dicks stopped us on the road and hauled us in. That’s all we know, ain’t it, Ray?”
The tall man nodded and said, “You’ve got nothing to hold us on, Chief. We were carrying guns for protection against hijackers.”
At that moment another officer stepped into the room and slipped a scribbled note to Slater. The chief read it, then looked up at the prisoners with contempt.
“Protection against hijackers?” he snorted. “That’s a hot onel That truck you two were driving was stolen! Also, it was empty.”
The prisoners’ eyes met in a quick glance of dismay. Slater followed up his advantage with a drumfire of questions but could elicit nothing more from the prisoners. Finally he gave up in disgust and turned to Tom.
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