"Who's is this?" he queried, holding up a curiously engraved gold watch.
"It looks like Dr. Bentley's," replied Dave Darrin, eying the timepiece. "I saw it often enough when I had diphtheria and he was taking my pulse."
"Yes; it's Dr. Bentley's," glowed Dick. "Won't he be the happy man, though?"
"He will if we manage to get it back to him," assented Tom dryly.
Then a dozen rings, some of them set with gems, and all tied on a string, came to light. There were half a dozen boxes containing jewelry; these boxes undoubtedly had been stolen from women in stores or on the street. A few more rather valuable articles came to light, and then Dick, after opening one jeweler's box and looking inside, emitted a whoop of wild joy.
"This must be the very watch that Fits stole from our parlor—the watch intended for my Christmas present," Prescott cried. "Yes, sir; I'll wager this is my watch."
But at last Dick put it aside with the other loot, and then applied himself to emptying the hole of its few remaining treasures.
"There must be five or six hundred dollars' worth of stuff in the lot," guessed Tom.
"More than that," said Dave.
"So, now, of course, you fellows can guess who hid the stuff here," Dick went on. "It was Mr. Fits who stole Dr. Bentley's watch, and who stole mine, too. So Mr. Fits must have hidden here all this stuff, which represents Mr. Fits's stealings."