“Yes.”
“Remember what sort they were?”
“What sort? No, just matches, weren’t they?”
“Parlor matches?”
“Um—no, they were what we used to call ‘all-day matches,’ the kind that come in cards and have to be broken off.”
“Exactly, sulphur matches,” agreed Chub. “Well, look at these.” He drew five burnt matches from his pocket and held them out.
“Yes, I see,” said Roy. “Look like the same kind, don’t they? You think, then, that the fellow that Harry saw at her window is the same fellow that robbed the store?”
“I think he was one of them,” answered Chub, decidedly. “Besides, he tried to steal canned fruit from us, and they took about two dozen cans of it last night.”
“That’s so. Who do you think did it?”