“Ouch!” said Gabriel.
“One more witness for the defense,” said the Poet. “Hello, what’s this?”
A ragged-edged square of dark woolen cloth, with a blue stripe, hung from a rusty nail in the ledge of the window through which Clarence had withdrawn his head in dodging a slap from Gabriel.
“Behold!” said the Poet, displaying the bit of cloth, which was about the size of a man’s hand. “Behold proof of Napoleon’s innocence!”
“How d’ye make that out?” demanded Gabriel.
“By the process known as inductive reasoning; the same kind of reasoning which enabled Edgar Allan Poe to solve the Nassau Street murder mystery after the police had given it up. It is perfectly plain that the thief who stole those eight expensive eggs wore trousers of the same pattern as this bit of cloth. In taking the eggs from the nest he stood where you were standing, Gabriel, when Clarence nipped you. The speckled hen was not to be ravished of her eggs without a struggle. She pecked and she squawked. Clarence heard her and flew to the rescue. He put his head through the window, as he did just now, and he nipped the thief just as he nipped you, Gabriel—that is, in the region of the hip pocket. Only in this case Clarence knew that he was dealing with a violator of the law, and he nipped deep. His teeth tore away and hung upon that waiting nail the clue which will one day convict the criminal. Look for the man whose dark, blue-striped trousers have a patch over or near the hip pocket. How strange are the ways of justice!”
“Well, I swan to man!” said Gabriel.
Amanda was twisting the corners of her apron nervously. Gabriel gave her a stern glance.
“Mandy, have you been losin’ any more keys of the henhouse?”
“I missed one yesterday,” said Amanda meekly. “Maybe I left it in the lock, havin’ my hands full of fresh eggs.”