"He was a poor man," answered the squire. "But he was simple and honest—all the Koehlers were."
"What do you suppose became of it?"
"I have always supposed that some one sneaked in while Koehler was away for a minute. A tramp could easily have walked in."
"Did my father never say that he had been in the church that afternoon?"
"Not that I know of."
The church door opened easily and quietly, the church was dim and silent. The tall, narrow windows, fitted with clear glass, let in the light of the moon upon the high pulpit, the oaken pews, the bare floor. The pulpit and the Bible were draped with protecting covers of white which made the church seem more ghostly and mysterious. Katy Gaumer in certain moods would have been enchanted.
Together the two men looked at the smooth wall beside the pulpit.
"It doesn't seem as if that wall could ever have been broken," said David in a low voice. "Was the window there?"
"Yes," answered the squire. "There was a window there. But William Koehler was a fine plasterer. The window went almost from ceiling to floor."
"We would have to have a pickaxe and other tools. And we would have to ask for permission to open it. And all Millerstown would have to know," said David.