“Your scissors, I believe, dear Miss Carberry,” she said. But Tish only eyed them stonily.
“Why should you think they are my scissors?” she inquired coldly.
“The eldest Smith boy told me to return them to you, with his compliments. He found them in the engine of his car.”
“In his car? What were they doing there?”
“That’s what I asked him. He said that you would know.”
“Two pairs of scissors are as alike as two pairs of pants,” Tish said calmly, and prepared to depart.
But our poor Aggie now stepped up and examined the things and began to sneeze with excitement.
“Why, Tish Carberry!” she exclaimed. “They are your scissors. There’s the broken point and everything. Well, if that isn’t the strangest thing!”
“Extraordinary,” said Mrs. Cummings. “Personally, I think it a matter for investigation.”
She then swept on, and we left the penitentiary. But once outside, the extreme discomfort of our situation soon became apparent. Not only were we wet through, so that Aggie’s sneezing was no longer alleviated by the clothespin, but Tish’s voice had become hardly more than a hoarse croaking. Also, we had no car in which to proceed. Indeed, apparently the treasure hunt was over so far as we were concerned. But once again I had not counted on Tish’s resourcefulness. We had no sooner emerged than she stopped in the darkness and held up her hand.