n call the police?" asked Fremont.

"That's what I've got to do."

"I didn't do it. I wasn't here when it was done," exclaimed Fremont.
"You've got to listen to me. You've got to listen to me, and believe
what I say. It is your duty to do so."

"What did you want to go and be a Boy Scout an' do such a thing for?"
demanded the boy. "Boy Scouts don't protect robbers, or murderers. You
know I've got to go an' call the police. There ain't nothin' else I
can do."

"If you call the police now," Fremont urged, "you'll rob me of every
chance to prove that I am innocent. They will lock me up in the Tombs
and I'll have no show at all. Mrs. Cameron will believe that I did it,
and won't come near me. If he dies I'll be sent to the electric
chair--and you'll be my murderer."

"What am I goin' to do, then?" demanded Jimmie. "I can't go out of the
room and testify that I know nothing about it when the police do come.
I can't do that for you, even if you do belong to the Black Bear
Patrol. I wish I'd never come here to-night. I wish I'd never worked
for the scrubwoman."

"To face danger in order to help others," Fremont repeated,
significantly.

"Oh, I know--I know," said Jimmie, flinging his arms out in a gesture
of despair. "I've heard that before, but what am I to do?"

"Who's your patrol leader?" asked Fremont. "Go and ask him, or the
scoutmaster. One of them ought to be able to tell you what you ought
to do."

"And you'll take to your legs while I'm gone," replied Jimmie, with a
grin. "Good idea that. For you."

"Here," said Fremont, tossing out his key to the door, "go on away and
lock me in. I couldn't get away if I wanted to, and I give you my
honor that I won't try. Go and find some one you can talk this thing
over with."

Jimmie's eyes brightened with sudden recollection of his patrol
leader's love for mysterious cases--his great liking for detective work.

"Say," he said, presently, "I'll go an' bring Ned Nestor. He's my
patrol leader, and the bulliest boy in New York. He'll know what to
do. I'll bet he'll come here when he knows what the trouble is. And
I'll do just as he says."

Jimmie turned toward the door, fingering the key, his eyes blinking
rapidly, then he turned and faced Fremont.

"If Ned Nestor tells me it ain't no use," he said, slowly, reluctantly,
"I'll have to bring the police. I'll have to do it anyway, if he tells
me to."

"You'll find me here, whoever you bring," F