When Mr. Swift followed the chief of police and the constable to the town hall his mind was filled with many thoughts. All his plans for revolutionizing submarine travel, were, of course, forgotten, and he was only concerned with the charge that had been made against his son. It seemed incredible, yet the officers were not ones to perpetrate a joke. The chief and constable had driven from town in a carriage, and they now invited the inventor to ride back with them.  
"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—"
 
"Yes, what did he do?" asked the chief eagerly, thinking he might secure some valuable evidence.
 
"I guess I'll say nothing until I have seen the bank president," replied Mr. Swift, and the official was obviously disappointed.
 
The inventor found Mr. Pendergast, and some other bank officials in the town hall. The financiers were rather angry when they learned that the accused persons had not been caught, but the chief said he would soon have them in custody.
 
"In the meanwhile will you kindly explain, what this means?" asked Mr. Swift of the president.
 
"You may come and look at the looted vault, if you like, Mr. Swift," replied Mr. Pendergast. "It was a very thorough job, and will seriously cripple the bank."
 
There was no doubt that the vault had been forced open, for the locks and bars were bent and twisted as if by heavy tools. Mr. Swift made a careful examination, and was shown the money drawers that had been smashed.
 
"This was the work of experts," he declared.
 
"Exactly what we think," said the president. "Of course we don't believe your son was a professional bank robber, Mr. Swift. We have a theory that Mr. Damon did the real work, but that Tom helped him with the tools he had. There is no doubt about it."
 
"What right have you to accuse my son?" burst out the aged inventor. "Why have you any more cause to suspect him than any other lad in town? Why do you fix on him, and Mr. Damon? I demand to know."
 
"Mr. Damon's eccentric actions for a few days past, and his well-known oddity of character make him an object of suspicion," declared the president in judicial tones. "As for Tom, we have, I regret to say, even better evidence against him."
 
"But what is it? What? Who gave you any clues to point to my son?"
 
"Do you really wish to know?"
 
"I certainly do," was the sharp reply. Mr. Swift, the police and several bank officials were now in the president's office. The latter pressed an electric bell, and, when a messenger answered, he said:
 
"Send young Foger here."
 
At the mention of this name, Mr. Swift started. He well knew the red-haired bully was an enemy of his son. Andy entered, walking rather proudly at the attention he attracted.
 
"This is Mr. Swift," said the president.
 
"Aw, I know him," blurted out Andy.
 
"You will please tell him what you told us," went on Mr. Pendergast.
 
"Well, I seen Tom Swift hanging around this bank with burglar tools in his possession last night, just before it was robbed," exclaimed the squint-eyed lad triumphantly.
 
"Hanging around the bank last night with burglar tools?" repeated Mr. Swift, in dazed tones.
 
"That's right," from Andy.
 
"How do you know they were burglar tools?"
 
"Because I saw 'em!" cried Andy. "He had 'em in a valise on his motor-cycle. He was standing at the corner, waiting for a chance to break into the bank, and when me and Sam Snedecker saw him, he pretended to be fixin' his machine. Then the bag of burglar tools fell off, the satchel came open, and I seen 'em! That's how I know."
 
"And you're sure they were burglar tools?" asked the chief, for he depended on Andy to be his most important witness.
 
"Sure I am. I seen a picture of burglar tools once, and the ones Tom had was just like 'em. Long-handled wrenches, brace an' bits, an' all. He tried to hide 'em, but me an' Sam was too quick for him. He wanted to lick me, too."
 
"No doubt you deserved it," murmured Mr. Swift. "But how do you know my son was waiting for a chance to break into the bank?"
 
"'Cause, wasn't it robbed right after he was hangin' around here with the burglar tools?" inquired Andy, as if that was unanswerable.
 
"What were you hanging around here for?" Mr. Swift demanded ............