"A pair of them, you said?" asked Mr. Witherbee.
"A whole gang, likely enough; but we saw only two. Don't know whether I hit any of 'em or not."
"Anything stolen?"
"Now, there's the queer part," affirmed Mr. Davidson. "Not a blessed thing, so far as we can discover, unless it was something out of the library that we haven't been able to locate as yet.
"He seemed to have spent all his time in the library, as nearly as I can find out. He had a lot of books out on the floor. Perhaps he thought we hid things behind them. We can't find that he did anything except mess with the books."
If Rosalind was afire with curiosity she did not betray the fact. Outwardly she maintained the frigid poise that had been the despair of the seventeen or eighteen.
"Well, from your story," commented Mr. Witherbee, "he got to your place after he visited us. He had hard luck here; he lost something. Who's got the bracelet? Here, Polly! Show it to Mr. Davidson."
Polly held out her arm.
"If he hadn't visited us first I would have thought probably he stole it from your place," said Witherbee.
Mr. Davidson glanced at the bracelet and shook his head.