He turned away with a vexed shrug, and walked toward where something had attracted his attention.
“Who dropped this?” asked the officer, displaying the object he had picked up.
It was a small copper token, about the size of a nickel cent.
“That’s mine,” said Will, returning.
“Then you were down here,” said Wilson. “And those are your footprints.”
“I didn’t say they weren’t,” said Will, indifferently.
“Then why do you object to measuring?”
“’Cause that would look too much as if I was taking my measure for a thief. That’s a game I ain’t playing. S’pose I mought have made the steps, ’cause I was down here.”
Mr. Fitler was closely examining the remainder of the cellar.
“Everything seems right here,” he said. “A rat could hardly get into this place. What’s that you have?” he asked, addressing Will.