“But when I got the porch door out there ready to open, I heard your old dog snuffin’ outside, and it scared me pretty near to death. I knew he wouldn’t let me out—and I was afraid he’d bite me if I let him in.
“So I ran upstairs and shut myself into that room again. And I didn’t dare come out till mornin’.”
“Oh, thank goodness!” gasped Agnes, under her breath. “It wasn’t Neale O’Neil!”
But this did not explain the mystery of the disappearance of the treasure trove that had been found in the Corner House garret. The Kenway girls were sure that Barnabetta Scruggs had told them the truth. She was not to blame for the actual robbery.
“And that must have occurred some time before you came down to look for the book Saturday night, Barnabetta,” Ruth said. “What time was it?”
“Oh, about midnight.”
“Then the robber got at the book some time in the hour between half past ten and half past eleven. Mrs. MacCall did not retire until half past ten, that is sure.”
“But how did he get in, and how did he get out, and who, for pity’s sake, is he?” cried Agnes.
Ruth shook her head. She might have said that her acquaintance among burglars was just as limited as Agnes’ own.
Only, this was no occasion for humor. The loss of a treasure amounting, possibly, to a hundred thousand dollars was no subject for raillery.