Interrupting each other as they talked, the children quickly described them. The descriptions fitted. There had been three men, and one of them had a long scar right across his cheek. Paul was certain they were right about that, because he remembered that it had been the scar-faced man who held the gun.
“Did you find out where they went?” Paul asked eagerly.
“No,” Ricky admitted. “But we did find this.”
“Mom’s pocketbook!” yelled both the Riker children as he held it up. “How did you get it back?”
“It was easy,” he said. “They threw it away.”
“Ricky found it in the road,” Anne put in, and Muriel hastily added, “It’s empty. They took out everything that was in it except a lipstick and handkerchief. Oh, yes, and an empty box.”
“Are you sure it’s empty?” asked Penny, reaching for the small blue box they had found in her mother’s pocketbook.
“Quite sure,” Muriel said. “We just looked.”
“Oh,” Penny exclaimed with a disappointed little sigh. “That was the box—”
She stopped at a look from Paul, but Judy almost knew she had been about to say it was the box that had held the green doll. At least, Judy knew now how big it was. Or rather, how small. The box was only about four inches long. Inside was a soft lining of satin and an impression as if something had rested there a long time without being disturbed.