“It happened that one of the sitting room windows was open half a foot that day. The weather had grown mild you remember,” explained the other.
“And you kind of had an idea the paper might have blown out through that open window, was that it?”
“It looked like it to me,” answered the widow’s son, frowning; “but if that was what happened the wind carried it over the fence and far away, because I’ve not been able to find anything of it.”
“How long was it between the time your mother laid the paper on the table and the moment she missed it?” continued Tom Chesney.
“Just one full hour. She went from the breakfast table and got the paper out of her trunk. Then when she had seen the children off to school, and dressed to go out it was gone. She said that was just a quarter to ten.”
“She’s sure of that, is she?” demanded Tom.
“Yes,” replied Carl, “because the grocer’s boy always comes along at just a quarter after nine for his orders, and he had been gone more than twenty minutes.”
At that the other boy stopped still and looked fixedly at Carl.
“That grocer’s boy is a fellow by the name of Dock Phillips, isn’t he?” was what Tom asked, as though with a purpose.
“Yes,” Carl replied.