"Well, certainly no one else has been in this flat," went on Mrs. Prescott.
But Dick flew first to one parlor window, and then to the other. Next he crossed the parlor in two bounds, dashing to his bedroom. He came back, holding the slip of paper he had taken from the outer door the night before.
"The two slips look as though they had been printed by the same fellow, don't they?" inquired the boy.
"Yes," nodded Mr. Prescott. Dick told him about finding the other slip on the door the evening before.
"But who could play such a mean trick?" insisted Mrs. Prescott.
"The fit-thrower, very likely," Dick answered.
"The fit—what?"
Then Dick hastily recalled to them his adventures of the day before.
"And one parlor window is fastened," Dick went on. "The other has its catch slipped. The fit-thrower must have climbed up in the night, slipped the catch with a thin blade and prowled around in here just to spoil our Christmas."
"It looks that way," nodded Mr. Prescott slowly, his usually calm eyes filled with disappointment. Then he added, to his wife: "My dear, I'm very glad, indeed, that I placed your chain on your bureau last night, instead of leaving it here on the parlor table."