"Well, well, well!" said Soapy. "So you're back? Did you have a pleasant time in London?"
"All right, thanks. I wanted to see you...."
"You've heard about this unfortunate business last night?"
"Yes. It was about that...."
"I have never been so upset by anything in my life," said Mr. Molloy. "By pure bad luck Dolly here and myself went over to Birmingham after dinner to see a show, and in our absence the outrage must have occurred. I venture to say," went on Mr. Molloy, a stern look creeping into his eyes, "that if only I'd been on the spot the thing could never have happened. My hearing's good, and I'm pretty quick on a trigger, Mr. Carroll—pretty quick, let me tell you. It would have taken a right smart burglar to have gotten past me."
"You bet it would," said Dolly. "Gee! It's a pity. And the man didn't leave a single trace, did he?"
"A fingerprint—or it may have been a thumb print—on the sill of the window, honey. That was all. And I don't see what good that's going to do us. You can't round up the population of England and ask to see their thumbs."
"And outside of that not so much as a single trace. Isn't it too bad! From start to finish not a soul set eyes on the fellow."
"Yes, they did," said John. "That's what I came to talk to you about. One of the servants heard a noise and came out and saw him going down the staircase."
If he had failed up to this point to secure the undivided attention of his audience, he had got it now. Miss Molloy seemed suddenly to come all eyes, and so tremendous were the joy and relief of Mr. Molloy that he actually staggered.