“Yes, thank you,” said George, who felt as if she was about to fall asleep at any moment. “I just want something to eat before I fall absolutely sound asleep!”

“But where have you been all day? What have you been doing?” cried Joan, as she bustled off to get them a meal.

“I got so worked up I went to the police — and what a silly I felt — I couldn’t tell them where you’d gone or anything. All I could say was you’d gone to find a man called Red, and had rowed away in George’s boat!”

“The police have been up and down the coast in a motor-boat ever since,” said Anne. “Trying to spot you, but they couldn’t.”

“No. Our boat was well hidden,” said Dick. “And so were we! So well hidden that I began to think we’d stay hidden for the rest of our lives.”

The telephone bell rang. Julian jumped. “Oh, good — you’ve had the telephone mended. I’ll go and ’phone the police when you’ve answered this call, Joan.”

But it was the police themselves on the telephone, very pleased to hear Joan saying excitedly that all the children were back safely. “We’ll be up in ten minutes,” they said.

In ten minutes’ time the five children and Timmy were tucking into a good meal. “Don’t stop,” said the police sergeant, when he came into the room with the constable the children had seen before. “Just talk while you’re eating.”

So they talked. They told about every single thing. First George told a bit, then Jo, then Dick then Julian. At first the sergeant was bewildered, but then the bits of information began to piece themselves together in his mind like a jigsaw puzzle.

“Will my father go to prison?” asked Jo.

“I’m afraid so,” said the sergeant.

“Bad luck, Jo,” said Dick.

“I don’t mind,” said Jo. “I’m better off when he’s away — I don’t have to do things he tells me then.”

“We’ll see if we can’t fix you up with a nice home,” said the sergeant kindly. “You’ve run wild, Jo — you want looking after.”

“I don’t want to go to a Home for Bad Girls,” said Jo, looking scared.

“I shan’t let you,” said Dick. “You’re one of the pluckiest kids I’ve ever known. We’ll none of us let you go to a Home. We’ll find someone who’ll be kind to you, someone like — like…”

“Like me,” said Joan, who was listening, and she put her arm round Jo and gave her a squeeze. “I’ve got a cousin who’d like a ragamuffin like you — a bad little girl with a very good heart. Don’t you fret. We’ll look after you.”

“I wouldn’t mind living with somebody like you,” said Jo, in an offhand way. “I wouldn’t be mean any more then, and I daresay I wouldn’t be bad. I’d like to see Dick and all of you sometimes, though.”

“You will if you’re good,” said Dick, with a grin. “But mind — if I ever hear you’ve got in at anyone’s pantry window again, or anything like that, I’ll never see you again!”