They heard feet tripping over the stairs and then Berinthia’s voice. “Oh, Tom, the officers are at the door. Put out your light. Let me have your Indian clothes. Get to bed, quick.”
Tom raised the window, emptied the water from the bowl into the alley behind the house, handed his Indian suit to Berinthia, put out the light, and jumped into bed. Captain Brandon was not at home, having gone to Maine to obtain timber for the building of a ship. Berinthia returned to her room, lifted the sheets and blankets, tucked Tom’s suit safely away between the feather bed and the straw mattress beneath it.
“Rat-a-tat-tat! Rat-a-tat-tat!” went the knocker, louder than before. Tom heard Berinthia’s window open.
“Who’s there, and what is wanted?” It was Berinthia speaking.
“Is Captain Brandon at home?” asked one of the men at the door.
“He is not. He is in Maine.”
“We want to search your house.”
“Why do you wish to search it?”
“An outrage has been committed, and we believe that his son had a hand in it!”