“I told your sister I put that album in the closet—and I did. But I didn’t take even one banknote out of the book!”
“I believe you, Barnabetta,” Ruth said faintly. “But—but who is the robber?”
“I was enough of a thief to take the book out of Neale’s bag,” said the circus girl. “But I didn’t even look into it. I didn’t have time.”
“How did you come to do it?” asked Agnes, curiously.
“I heard Neale when he came here Saturday night. Of course, I knew ’twas him by his voice and what you girls said. And I heard there was some kind of a row.”
“There was,” sighed Agnes.
“I came down and listened at the door of that other room where you girls and Neale were talkin’. I heard him say the book was in his bag on the porch, and I knew that bag didn’t have any lock to it.”
“Of course,” groaned Ruth.
“I was goin’ to get it before he came out; but he flung open the sittin’ room door so quick he pretty near caught me. I crouched down in the corner at the foot of the stairs and if he hadn’t been so mad,” said Barnabetta, “he must have seen me.
“But he didn’t, and when he was gone I went outside and got the book. You girls were still in the sittin’ room; but I heard somebody up in the back hall and I was afraid to go upstairs, either by the back or the front flight.