When we arrived at the house Weiby searched the whole attic, poked his cane under the bed and the commode and shook the mat the tortoise usually lay on.
“I’ve done all that myself,” said Madam Knoll angrier than ever.
“Yes, the turtle is gone,” said Weiby.
“Turtle!” said Madam Knoll, so indignant that she could scarcely get the word out.
“We must advertise it,” said Weiby.
“Advertise? Much good that would do!” sniffed Madam Knoll.
“What did you call the police for, Madam Knoll, if you won’t do what he says?” Weiby was angry, too, now.
“Call me Madam Hansen, as my name is,” said Madam Knoll. “However, you may as well go. I can see that you would never find the tortoise if you stumbled over it.” And now she and the policeman were decidedly at loggerheads.
The end was that Weiby stamped down the stairs promising that it would be a long time before he would come there again.
“What is such a man good for?” said Madam Knoll. “Shake the mat and look under the bed as if he had thought of something brand-new, when he might know that I had done all that; he’d never find my tortoise, not if he walked on his head all over town, I could see that by his whole make-up. Oh, the poor lost tortoise! Do you think that whoever has taken it knows that it has four raisins every day,—uh, hu, hu!—and a carrot? Well, I’ll say this,” concluded Madam Knoll, drying her eyes; “if you find the tortoise, you shall have the music-box that plays, ‘Bim bam! Bilibum, bum, bum,’ and my thanks besides.”