“That’s what the dark-faced man was looking for when he sounded the walls.”
“No doubt of that.”
“P’r’aps that’s why they killed her.”
“They, Billy? Do you think more than one hand was at work that night?”
“I do, Miss Margie,” cried the boy, confidently. “There are two hands in this mystery. Mr. Carter will trip them up in time, see if he don’t.”
“Yes, Billy, there is more than a will,” and Margie held the package up before the street boy. “As I’ve told you, it is also the story of Mother Flintstone’s life. Where did you find it, boy?”
“Under the hearth.”
“The place was not examined by the dark-faced man?”
“Exactly! He looked every place else. I found it there safe from him and the rats. Keep it, Margie. No, hide it from that man. He’ll have it or your life if he knows you have it.”
Margie placed the packet in her bosom, and looked gratefully at the street boy.