"Look here," said Chub after a moment's silence, "you didn't poach on Mercer and I didn't. Who the dickens did?"
"I can't imagine. I dare say it was some fellow from the village."
"With a crimson sweater on? Not likely. I suppose it couldn't have been your sweater, eh?"
Roy shook his head.
"How do you know?" pursued Chub.
"'Cause mine was locked in my trunk."
"Sure?"
"Certain."
"Someone might have had a key that fitted the lock, though."
"They might have, but—" Roy paused and scowled thoughtfully. "Come to think of it, Chub, my trunk wasn't locked yesterday afternoon. I remember now. I locked it after we got back."