Then, as Fred recalled his meeting with the second party in the lane, he heaved a great sigh.
"Well, I'm the biggest blockhead in the country—that's all—and I hope I won't have to tell anybody the whole story. Halloo!"
Just then he happened to think of the pocket-knife he had picked up on the floor, and he drew it out of his pocket. Boy-like, his eyes sparkled with pleasure when they rested on the implement so indispensable to every youngster, and which was much the finest one he had ever had in his hand.
The handle was pearl and the two blades were of the finest steel and almost as keen as a razor.
Fred set the candle on a chair, and leaning over, carefully examined the knife, which seemed to grow in beauty the more he handled it.
"The man that dropped that is the one who stole all the silverware and money, and there's the letters of his name," added the boy.
True enough. On the little piece of brass on the side of the handle were roughly cut the letters, "N. H. H."