Then it flashed upon him that the book might have been stolen. He went at once to the room of his literary friend, Sylvanus Snodgrass, and told him of his discovery.
“It has been stolen!” said Sylvanus instantly. “I introduced an incident like this into my last serial story for the Bugle.”
“But who could have stolen it?” asked Ben, perplexed. “The servant wouldn’t do it I am sure.”
“No, she is an honest Swedish girl. She wouldn’t be capable of it.”
“I agree with you, but some one must have taken it from the trunk.”
“Of course! Let me think,” and the novelist leaned his head on his hand and wrinkled up his forehead in the throes of mental speculation.
“I have it!” he exclaimed suddenly.
“What! the bank book!”
“No; I begin to understand the mystery.”
Ben regarded him patiently. He knew that Sylvanus would soon impart to him his suspicions.