McGowan cast a startled look at Bernritter and Jacobs. That word “stole” was an unfortunate thing for the baron.
“Well,” said McGowan shortly, “did you?”
“Yah,” haw-hawed the baron, “you bed you I shtole someding. I shtole der heart oof dot pooty leedle Frieda, und I don’d gif id pack, neider.”
“Did you take anything else?” went on McGowan, his eye on the overweighted saddle-bag.
“Vell,” jested the baron, “I took my departure. Dot’s aboudt all.”
“What’s the matter with that saddle-bag of yours?”
The baron looked down at the bag.
“Py shinks,” he exclaimed, “id looks heafy, don’d id? I didn’t haf nodding heavy like dot in id. Der frau must haf put in a loaf oof pread ven I vasn’t looking. Vell, oof she dit, id’s my pread, anyvay. Dit you pring me some messaches from Frieda, Misder McGowan?”
“No.”