But at this juncture, when the perplexity threatened to upset everything, Billy Waylett solved the difficulty by whisking out his linen pocket-handkerchief.
“Now you’re talking,” remarked the pleased Tom; “why didn’t we think of that before?”
It was curious, indeed, that they did not, and it was curious, too, in view of the cunning shown in other directions, that all three forgot a precaution which ought to have occurred to them.
A handkerchief was just the thing to be used to seal the mouth of the victim, but it should have come from the pocket of Tom Wagstaff instead of from Billy Waylett’s.
Perhaps had the boys felt that abundance of time was at command, they would have thought of this necessity; but they were well aware that Maggie, the servant, was making good speed to the Town Hall, and that Mr. Wagstaff would not let the grass grow under his feet on his way home. Besides, too, the screams of the girl were likely to bring others to the spot before the coming of the owner of the house. The boys, therefore, had not a minute to throw away, and they did not idle their time.
The twisted handkerchief was pushed between the open jaws of the victim, like the bit in a horse’s mouth, and then knotted and tied behind his head. Billy, who took charge of this little job, was not over-gentle, and more than once the victim protested. Little heed, however, was paid to him, and his words were but feeble mumblings when sifted through the meshes of the handkerchief.
“There! I guess that’ll do,” said Billy, stepping back and surveying his work; “how do you feel, Tommy?”
The latter nodded his head, mumbled, and tried to speak. He was urging them to leave, but his words were unintelligible.
Meanwhile Jim had picked up the other handkerchief, tied at the corners, and was surprised to find how heavy it was. It contained much valuable property.
The boys were reminded of their remissness by the sound of voices on the outside. Neighbors were at hand.