“I’m afraid I don’t see,” George Anderson admitted after taking a long look at the picture Peter handed him. “What is this? A joke of some kind?”
Judy laughed. “You might call it that, but the joke was on me. I took one picture on top of another. It does create a weird effect.” She pointed out the lady’s face on the man’s body. “You see, that’s the same face that you saw carved on those three table legs in the other room. One is missing. It must have been stored here in the kitchen when the beavers found it.”
“This seems to be where all the unfinished furniture is stored,” Peter observed as he gestured toward the stack of chairs that had blocked the doorway.
“Of course,” agreed Judy. “The beavers couldn’t get in the other room with the door closed, could they? I mean unless they gnawed their way in. That must be where this old furniture is taken to be sanded and varnished and made to look like new. We’ll have our whole table, just the way it was before the flood, as soon as we find the other table leg.”
“You mean the one the beavers stole?” Danny’s father asked, beginning to understand.
“Right,” agreed Peter. “Your house wasn’t broken into except by beavers—”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean,” Peter pointed out, “that whoever entered this house had a key. Danny saw him using it.”
“But I was the only one with a key,” George Anderson protested.
“Think! Didn’t you give a key to someone?”