"Well, there now," Mr. Allan said with rough sympathy, "you just got scared, that's all. Everything's suspicious when folks get scared. I told my wife the other day I bet you girls would get a good fright some time left here alone. Come on, Jim, and we'll go over the house in a jiffy."
He was standing near the dining-room door. He lifted his head suddenly, and seemed to sniff a little. There was undoubtedly a faint odor of tobacco in the house.
"Been any men in here to-night?" he asked. "Or this afternoon? Think, now!"
"No one," answered Prudence. "I was alone all afternoon, and there has been no one in this evening."
He passed slowly through the dining-room into the hall, closely followed by his son and the five girls, already much reassured. As he passed the dungeon door he paused for a moment, listening intently, his head bent.
"Oh, Mr. Allan," cried Prudence, "let's look in the dungeon first. I want to see if the money is safe." Her hand was already on the lock, but he shoved her away quickly.
"Is there any way out of that closet besides this door?" he asked.
"No. We call it the dungeon," laughed Prudence, her self-possession quite recovered. "It is right under the stairs, and not even a mouse could gnaw its way out, with this door shut."
"Who shut that door?" he inquired, still holding Prudence's hand from the lock. Then without waiting for an answer, he went on, "Let's go back in the other room a minute. Come on, all of you." In the living-room, he hurried to the telephone, and spoke to the operator in a low voice. "Call the police headquarters, and have them send two or three men to the Methodist parsonage, right away. We've got a burglar locked in a closet, and they'll have to get him out. Please hurry."
At this, the girls crowded around him again in renewed fear.