"Do you mean to tell me a warrant has actually been sworn out against
my son, Chief?" asked the father, when they were near the town hall.

"That's just what I mean to say, Mr. Swift, and, I'm sorry, on your
account, that I have to serve it."

"Hub! Don't look like you was goin' to serve it," remarked the
constable. "He's skipped out."

"That's all right, Higby," went on the chief. "I'll catch em both.
Even if they have escaped in an airship with their booty, I'll nab
'em. I'll have a general alarm out all over the country in less than
an hour. They can't stay up in the air forever."

"A warrant for Tom-my son," murmured Mr. Swift, as if he could not
believe it

"Yes, and for that Damon man, too," added the chief. "I want him as
well as Tom, and I'll get 'em."

"Would you mind letting me see the warrants?" asked the inventor, and
the official passed them over. The documents were made out in regular
form, and the complaints had been sworn to by Isaac Pendergast, the
bank president.

"I can't understand it," went on Tom's father. "Seventy-five thousand
dollars. It's incredible! Why!" he suddenly exclaimed, "it can't be
true. Just before he left, Mr. Damon-"