But Tish interrupted him.
“Bill?” she said. “Bill?”
Without a word she pushed the crowd aside, and bending over Bill, with her poor manacled hands she examined him as best she could. Then she straightened herself and addressed the crowd with composure.
“Under this man’s shirt,” she said, “you will find what I imagine to be a full set of burglar’s tools. If your hands are not paralyzed like your brains, examine him and see.”
And they found them! The picture of that moment is indelibly impressed on my mind—the sheriff holding up the tools and Tish addressing the mob with majesty and the indignation of outraged womanhood.
“Gentlemen, this is one of the gang which robbed the Cummings house to-night. Through all this eventful evening, during which I regret to say some of you have suffered, my friends and I have been on their track. Had the motorcycle not wrecked that ruffian’s car, they would now have safely escaped. As it is, when we were so unjustly arrested I had but just recovered the Cummings silver and jewels, and alone and unaided had overcome the remainder of the gang. I am exhausted and weary; I have suffered physical injury and mental humiliation; but I am not too weak or too weary to go now to the sand pit at the tenth hole on the golf links and complete my evening’s work by handing over to the police the three other villains I have captured.”
“Three cheers for the old girl!” somebody called in the crowd. “I’m for her! Let’s go!”
And this, I think, concludes the narrative of that evening’s events. It was almost midnight when, our prisoners safely jailed, we arrived at the Ostermaiers’ to find all the treasure hunters except the Cummingses there and eating supper, and our angel-food cake gracing the center of the table. Our dear Tish walked in and laid the sack of pennies on the table.
“Here is the treasure,” she announced. “It has been an interesting evening, and I hope we shall soon do it again.”
Mr. Ostermaier took up the bag and examined it.