“It’s a plot clear enough. And naturally we may believe that it was not hatched by that Miguel Costello, the junkman. It looks as though it was done by Big Jim’s crowd.”
“But what have they done with the bairns?” demanded the housekeeper, in horror.
“Oh, Neale! have they stolen Tess and Dot, as well as the silver bracelet?” was Agnes’ bitter cry.
“Got me. Don’t know,” muttered the boy. “And what would they want the children for, anyway?”
“Let us find out if any Gypsies have been seen about the house this afternoon,” Agnes proposed. “You see, Neale. Don’t send Linda.”
Linda, indeed, was in a hopeless state. She didn’t know, declared Mrs. McCall, whether she was on her head or her heels!
Neale ran out and searched the neighborhood over. When he came back he had found nobody who had set eyes on any Gypsies; but he had heard from Mrs. Pease that Gypsies were camped out of town. The store man had told her so.
“Oh!” gasped Agnes, suddenly remembering. “I heard about that. Mrs. Pinkney told me. They are on the Buckshot Road, out beyond where Carrie Poole lives. You know, Neale.”
“Sure I know where the Poole place is,” admitted Neale. “We have all been there often enough. And I can get the car—”
“Do! Do!” begged Mrs. McCall. “You cannot go too quickly, Neale O’Neil. And take the police wi’ ye, laddie!”