“Just as if some one had gone in at the front door and left it unlocked,” said Mr. Wittaker.
“Exactly!” said Mr. Griscom. “So the first thing we thought was ‘Burglars!’ and the first place my wife looked was the sideboard, in the dining-room, and there—”
“Yes,” said Mr. Wittaker. “There, on the sideboard, were a dozen solid silver spoons you had never seen before.”
“And marked with my wife’s initials—understand!” said Mr. Griscom. “And the cellar window—the one on the east side of the house—had been broken out of.”
“Why not broken into?” asked the Marshal.
“Well, I’m not quite a fool,” said Mr. Griscom with some heat. “I know because of the marks his jimmy made on the sill.”
“Some one has been playing a joke on you,” said Mr. Wittaker. “You wait, and you’ll see. You won’t be offended if I ask you a question?”
“My wife knows no more about it than I do,” said Mr. Griscom hotly.
“Now, now,” said Mr. Wittaker soothingly. “I didn’t mean that. What are your own spoons, solid or plated?”