“Yes, sir, that’s what I said, the Tottum Pole. It was one of Mr. Tracy’s favourite toys. It was Indian, Griscom says, and it always stood on his bedside table. He thought it was a—a charm, like.”
“A Luck you mean, I dare say.” Keeley had taken the inquiry into his own hands for the moment.
“Yes, sir, it was his Luck, that’s what Griscom said.”
“How large was it?”
“About so big.” Sally measured a foot or more with her hands. “Oh, it was fierce! Yet beautiful, too.”
“Bright colours, and a face at the top——”
“Yes, sir. But a norful face, all eyes——”
“I know. You understand, Mr. Farrell, don’t you? She means a miniature Totem Pole. They have them in the better class of shops round here that carry Indian trinkets. The little Totem Poles are interesting, and are called lucky. I have two or three at home. But mine are smaller, only six or eight inches. And so this Totem Pole is missing. What else, Sally?”
“Two of Mr. Tracy’s best weskits, sir! His striped dark blue morey, and his pearl-coloured figgered satin.”
“He wore fancy waistcoats, then?”