"Cyrus Sutton?"
"That's it—yes, that's his name."
"What was he after?" demanded Fred, indignantly.
"He said he was staying in the village a little while, and, having heard about our loss, he came out to make inquiries."
"I would like to know what business he had to do that," said the boy, who was sure the old ladies were altogether too credulous and kind to strangers who presented themselves at their doors.
"Why, Frederick, it was a great favor for him to show such an interest in our affairs."
"Yes; so it was in them other two chaps, I s'pose; this ain't the first time Mr. Cyrus Sutton has been in your house."
"What do you mean, Frederick?"
"I mean this," answered Fred, wheeling his chair about and slapping his hand several times upon the table, by way of emphasis, "that Mr. Cyrus Sutton, as he calls himself, is the man I met in the lane the other night, and who climbed into the window and helped the other fellow carry off your plate and money; there!"
The ladies raised their hands in protesting amazement.