"I hope he has gotten away, and will never come back," said Mrs. Blake. "But I wish you gentlemen would look, just the same."
So Mr. Martin and the other men neighbors, with Patrick, the gardener, to help, began a search of the house. They went to Mrs. Blake's room first.
"I don't see any burglar," said Mr. Martin. He did not need his electric flashlight now, as the house had been lighted from top to bottom by Mrs. Blake's two servants.
"There he is! There he is!" suddenly cried Mrs. Blake. "Under that big chair. There's the fuzzy burglar!"
Mr. Martin and two or three other men rushed over to the chair at which Mrs. Blake pointed. Mr. Martin stooped down, and then he laughed.
"What's the matter?" asked Mr. Tyndall, a neighbor from across the street.
"I'll show you," answered Mr. Martin, as he thrust his arm under the chair. "Come out of there, Jack!" he went on, and out from beneath the chair he pulled—Jack, Uncle Toby's pet monkey! Poor Jack was as much frightened as Mrs. Blake had been, but he cowered down in Mr. Martin's arms and looked up into the face of the father of the Curlytops as if saying:
"Please don't whip me! I didn't mean to be bad!"
The men who had come in to help hunt a burglar looked at the fuzzy monkey in Mr. Martin's arms, and then burst out laughing.
"Yes, it must have been him that I saw perched on my window," said Mrs. Blake. "In my alarm, it did look like a fuzzy, little old man, and of course I thought it was a burglar. I was foolish. It was a very small burglar. I didn't know you kept monkeys, Mr. Martin."