"Mr. Swift," went on the chief, solemnly, "I said we came upon a very
painful errand. It is painful, as I have known Tom since he was a
little lad. But I must do my duty, no matter how painful it is. I have
a warrant for the arrest of your son, Thomas Swift, and I have come to
serve it. I need not tell you that it is your duty to give him up to
us-the representatives of the law. I call upon you to produce your
son."

Mr. Swift staggered to his feet.

"My son! You have come to arrest my son?" he stammered.

The chief nodded grimly.

"Upon what charge?" faltered the father.

"On a charge of breaking into the Shopton National Bank last night,
and stealing from the vault seventy-five thousand dollars in
currency!"

"Seventy-five thousand dollars! Tom accused of robbing the bank!"
faltered Mr. Swift.

"That is the charge, and we've come to arrest him," broke in Constable
Higby.

"Where is he?" added the chief.

"This charge is false! Absolutely false!" shouted the aged inventor.