Arrived at the building in which the court was located, Bob was led away to the detention room, to await the calling of his case, while the reporters and Simpkins made their way direct to the court room.

In due course the case was reached.

When the presiding magistrate caught sight of Bob’s sad face, the stern expression on his own countenance relaxed, and he bestowed upon the trembling boy a glance full of encouragement.

Noting this, Foster, who had been watching the judge intently, was inspired with the hope that the boy would be quickly discharged.  But his pleasure was only momentary, for, as the magistrate read the charge, his face became even more austere than usual.

“Well, Chester, what have you to say for yourself?” demanded the judge, directing a glance at the boy, as though he would pierce his very soul.  “Are you guilty, or not guilty?”

[Illustration:  “Well Chester, what have you to say for yourself?” Bob Chester’s Grit Page 24]

The strangeness of the scene and lack of familiarity with the procedure of a court caused Bob to remain silent.

Again the magistrate repeated his question, but still Bob made no reply.

“I think he wants to plead guilty,” interposed one of the plain-clothes men whom the sergeant had ordered to make a case against the boy.  “Perhaps if you offered to give him a light sentence if he would tell us who the two men are who got away with the money, he would do so.”

“How about that?” demanded the magistrate, again directing his gaze at the boy.

But before Bob had a chance to reply, Foster exclaimed: 

“He does not want to plead guilty, your honor.  This whole business in dragging this boy to court is an outrage.  He had no more knowledge of the fact that those men intended to, or were, swindling this man from the country, than you have.”

The tone in which the reporter spoke was one that could not fail to be impressive, and after a moment’s hesitation, the magistrate, who knew Foster as a reporter and admired him for his manly fearlessness, asked: 

“What do you know about the case?”

“I protest, your honor, that this man should not be allowed to interfere with the case,” said one of the plain-clothes officers.  “He was not a witness of the transaction.  I think it would be more proper to hear Simpkins’ version of the affair.”

“When I wish your advice, officer, I will ask for it,” snapped the magistrate, and turning again to Foster, he said: 

“Tell me all you know about this business.”

“Thank you, your honor, I will: