The clothes-line thief was very sensitive on the subject, and felt

greatly aggrieved that he should be accused of picking his own pocket,

for he protested that he had "found" the garment. The fancied

insinuation indeed was so strongly resented that John wondered if it

might not be a proverbial case of "hit birds flutter."

Neither police nor court of justice had examined the pocket; nor had

they been aware of the existence of one. The bishop could throw no light

on the missing article, and this call ended the successless tour of

investigation.

"It was truly a profitable investment for the Jenkins family," thought

John, "but a sorry one for me."

Having now wended his weary and unavailing way into all the places

listed, John made his final report to Colette who remained adamant in

her resolve.

"Of course some of those people did find it," she maintained. "It stands

to reason they must have done so, and it is up to you now to find out

which one of them is the guilty person."

"How can I find that out, Colette?"

"How? Anyhow!" she replied, her mien betraying great triumph at her

powers of logic.

"It must be found!" she asserted with a distinct air of finality. "And

until it is found--"

She stopped abruptly.

"Was it of value? No, I am not trying to find out what it was since you

don't wish me to know, but if I knew its value, it might help me to

decide who would be the most likely to have a motive for taking it. But

my belief is that the article slipped from the pocket and is lost."

"It must be found then" she persisted obstinately.

John went home to ponder over his hopeless task. It remained for

Amarilly with her optimistic spirit to cheer him.

"It'll turn up some place whar you never looked fer it and when you

ain't thinkin' nuthin' about it," she asserted believingly. "Lost things

allers do."

Despite her philosophy she was greatly distressed over the disappearance

of the mysterious article whose loss was keeping John so unhappy. She

ransacked the house from the cellar to the Boarder's room, but found no

trace of it.

"I wonder what it was," she mused.

"Mebby Miss King dreamt she put something in there, and when could she

have done it anyhow? Mebby she give him a present, and he slipped it in

there and fergot to take it out when he sent it to us. But then it would

have come out in the wash. She don't seem to feel so bad as he does--

jest sorter stubborn about it."




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