her fence for a look at the show, to raid the vacant houses undisturbed.
Patsy is miserable about it; miserable on account of the neighbors,
and particularly miserable on account of her foreigners, of course;
so miserable on their account that she hasn’t any room to worry
about her own little losses.”
“It’s the same old raider,” said Wilson. “I suppose there isn’t
any doubt about that.”
“Constable Blake doesn’t think so.”
“No, you’re wrong there,” said Blake. “The other times it was a man;
there was plenty of signs of that, as we know, in the profession,
thought we never got hands on him; but this time it’s a woman.”
Wilson thought of the mysterious girl straight off. She was always
in his mind now. But she failed him again. Blake continued:
“She’s a stoop-shouldered old woman with a covered basket on her arm,
in a black veil, dressed in mourning. I saw her going aboard
the ferryboat yesterday. Lives in Illinois, I reckon; but I don’t care
where she lives, I’m going to get her–she can make herself sure of that.”
“What makes you think she’s the thief?”
“Well, there ain’t any other, for one thing; and for another,
some nigger draymen that happened to be driving along saw her coming
out of or going into houses, and told me so–and it just happens that
they was _robbed_, every time.”
It was granted that this was plenty good enough circumstantial evidence.
A pensive silence followed, which lasted some moments, then Wilson said:
“There’s one good thing, anyway. She can’t either pawn or sell
Count Luigi’s costly Indian dagger.”
“My!” said Tom. “Is _that_ gone?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that was a haul! But why can’t she pawn it or sell it?”
“Because when the twins went home from the Sons of Liberty meeting
last night, news of the raid was sifting in from everywhere,
and Aunt Patsy was in distress to know if they had lost anything.
They found that the dagger was gone, and they notified the police
and pawnbrokers everywhere. It was a great haul, yes, but
the old woman won’t get anything out of it, because she’ll get caught.”
“Did they offer a reward?” asked Buckstone.
“Yes, five hundred dollars for the knife, and five hundred more
for the thief.”
“What a leather-headed idea!” exclaimed the constable.
“The thief das’n’t go near them, nor send anybody.
Whoever goes is going to get himself nabbed,
for their ain’t any pawnbroker that’s going to lose the chance to–”
If anybody had noticed Tom’s face at that time, the gray-green color
of it might have provoked curiosity; but nobody did.
He said to himself: “I’m gone! I never can square up; the rest of
the plunder won’t pawn or sell for half of the bill. Oh, I know it–
I’m gone, I’m gone–and this time it’s for good. Oh, this is awful–
I don’t know what to do, nor which way to turn!”
“Softly, softly,” said Wilson to Blake. “I planned their scheme
for them at midnight last night, and it was all finished up shipshape
by two this morning. They’ll get their dagger back,
and then I’ll explain to you how the thing was done.”
There were strong signs of a general curiosity, and Buckstone said:
“Well, you have whetted us up pretty sharp. Wilson, and I’m free
to say that if you don’t mind telling us in confidence–”
“Oh, I’d as soon tell as not, Buckstone, but as long as the
twins and I agreed to say nothing about it, we must let it stand so.
But you can take my word for it, you won’t be kept waiting three days.
Somebody will apply for that reward pretty promptly,
and I’ll show you the thief and the dagger both very soon afterward.”
The constable was disappointed, and also perplexed. He said:
“It may all be–yes, and I hope it will, but I’m blamed if I
can see my way through it. It’s too many for yours truly.”
The subject seemed about talked out. Nobody seemed to have
anything further to offer. After a silence the justice of the
peace informed Wilson that he and Buckstone and the constable had