“And you can’t understand how the murderer got through the iron bars on the window?”
“No, that’s what puzzles me most of all.”
“Perhaps he did not get through at all.”
“Don’t be a fool, Bell!”
“Drat that boy!” interjected Mrs. Hobbs. “He has got a new ball, and won’t come in to his tea. Here, Harry! Come here!”
But Harry did not answer, and did not come. So his mother went to the back door to call him. But she did not call him, but paused in a kind of wonderment on the doorstep. Presently she shouted—
“Come here, Tom!”
Languidly, and with true official deliberation, Mr. Hobbs came to her side.
“Well, what’s the matter, Bell?”
“Look at that boy, Tom. His ball has fallen in the next yard. He cannot squeeze through the fence or climb over it, but he is getting the ball all the same.”