"Bring down what we found after the burglar left, dear."
"All right."
Mrs. Witherbee returned to the porch to find Miss Chalmers staring at her apprehensively.
"We've got a clue," she bubbled. "It's the strangest thing in the world. I suppose if you simply have to have a burglar, the next best thing is to have a clue. Stephen thinks it may lead to a capture. Do you still think you'll send for detectives, Stephen?"
"We'll see; we'll see, my dear."
Miss Chalmers walked to the porch-rail and steadied herself.
A clue!
It seemed she had never heard a word that sounded so sinister. A clue to the burglar! She shivered a little.
"Rosalind, you're positively chilly!" exclaimed Mrs. Witherbee, slipping an arm around her. "Run, Stephen, and tell Mary to hurry the coffee. It's this morning air, my dear. You'll get used to it in no time."
There was a quick step in the hallway, and Gertrude Witherbee rushed out upon the porch. Miss Chalmers returned the embrace, rather perfunctorily. She was thinking of clues.