Quite a procession moved up the stairway—the Judge, holding Bethany’s hand, in advance, the two boys and the servants following.
Upon arriving in the upper hall and traversing it to the L beyond, where the servants’ bedrooms were over the kitchen and pantries, Dallas kept looking sharply about.
One peculiarity of the Judge was that he liked plenty of light. At night the electric lights were turned on in every hall and every room, whether occupied or not.
“I do not see the culprits,” said Dallas, “but I will call,” and he gave a tentative “Too whoo, whoo, whoo whoo!”
“Too whoo, whoo, whoo whoo,” said two little soft voices near them.
Dallas stuck his head out a window. “Ah, there are the miscreants, sitting on the limb of that tree.”
The branches of the big, leafless old elm brushed the hall window, and the little owls sitting there were calmly contemplating a rising moon.
The Judge let Bethany look at them, then he said: “See, Higby, there are your burglars. There are no traces of any others here. No man would be bold enough to pass through this lighted house, and if he did why should he attack you?”
“I-I-I saw him,” burst from Higby, “a b-b-big black man.”
The Judge looked down at Bethany. She was tightly clasping his hand, and the expression of her face was doubtful.