As the Prescott auto drove up, old Mr. Harding, in his usual rusty black suit, rose from his seat under the elm, and whispered something to the sheriff. The blue-chinned, thick-necked Mortlake arose also. All three turned and gazed curiously at the young occupants of the car, as it slowed down.
"Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Galloway," cried Peggy. "We were dreadfully sorry to hear of your loss. Have you any clue yet?"
There was something curiously cold in the woman's voice, as she replied in the negative. Her husband looked sullen and merely nodded. The sheriff now rose and came toward the machine. He knew all the young folks and greeted them briefly. At his heels pressed old Harding and his companion. They whispered in the sheriff's ear as he advanced, and seemed to be urging him to something.
"I understand that you folks was in this house yesterday afternoon?" began the sheriff abruptly.
"Why, yes, during the storm," said Peggy. "There was Lieut. Bradbury, of the United States Navy——"
Harding and Mortlake exchanged annoyed glances. This was confirmation of their fears.
"Yes, go on," urged the sheriff.
"And myself, and Mr. Bancroft here and his sister, and later my brother came."
"Do you recall the safe being opened while you were in the room? I presume from the remark you made when you drove up that you know of the robbery."
"We heard of it at the Bancroft's, but we don't know the details."