"That hut belongs to Luke Higgins, a respectable man who is out West at
present," said the detective when Roy had finished. "He uses it as a
sort of hunting box in the rabbit shooting season. He couldn't have had
anything to do with it."
"I'd like to know his address so that I could write and thank him for
leaving that gun there," declared Peggy warmly.
The detective shook his head solemnly.
"I reckon you young folks had better stop skee-daddling round the
country this way," he said with heavy conviction; "you'll only get into
more trouble. Flying ain't natural no more than crowing hens is."
With this he picked up his hat, and, after assuring them that he would
find a clew within a short time, he departed, leaving behind him a
company in which amusement mingled with indignation. In fact, so angry
was Roy over the stupidity or ignorance of the Meadville police, that he
himself set out on a hunt to detect the authors of the outrages upon the
young aviators.
The sole result of his inquiry however was to establish the fact that
both Cassells had left town, closing their house and announcing that
they would be gone for some time.
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