The next day Binks returned to his labours, while Mrs. B. repaired to the marts to plunge moderately on what truck she stood in want of for her trip.
When Mrs. B. got back to the house it chanced that the first thing she needed was in the fatal drawer. She opened it.
Horrors! The watch was gone!
There was naught of hesitation; Mrs. B. knew it had been stolen. Anybody could see that from the way every garment had been carefully laid back to hide the loss.
What should she do? The police must at once be notified. Mrs. B. pulled on her shaker and scooted for the police station. She told her story out of breath. She left her house at three o'clock and was back at four o'clock, and in that short hour her home had been entered and looted of its treasures. Made to be specific, Mrs. B. said the treasures were a watch and chain, and described them.
“What were they worth?” asked the sergeant of the detectives.
Mrs. B. considered a bit, and then said they would be dog cheap at $1,000. She reflected that the sum, if published in the papers, would be a source of pride.
The sergeant of detectives told Mrs. B. his men would look about for her property, and should they hear of it or find it they would at once notify her.
“You bet your gum boots! ma'am,” said the sleuth confidently, “whatever crook's got your ticker, he's due to soak it or plant it some'ers in a week. Mebby he'll turn it over to his Moll. But the minute we springs it, ma'am, or turns it up, we'll be dead sure to put you on in a jiff.”
“Thank you,” said Mrs. B.