"How do you know it?" asked Roy.
"Oh, I just do! I don't care if he is my cousin; he's as mean—!"
"Well, suspecting him won't do any good," said Roy. "We can't see into the trunk. And, anyhow, maybe he didn't bring the sweater back at all."
"Yes, he did too," answered Harry. "Don't you see he'd want to put it back again so that you couldn't say that someone had taken it and worn it? It's there, in his trunk."
"And I guess it'll stay there," said Roy hopelessly. "He won't be fool enough to take it out now."
"Couldn't you make him open his trunk?"
"I don't see how. I couldn't go and tell him I suspected him of having stolen my sweater; not without more proof than I've got now."
"I suppose not," answered Harry thoughtfully, her chin in her hand and the heel of one small shoe beating a restless tattoo on the wall. "You might—" she lowered her voice and looked about guiltily—"you might break it open!"
"And supposing it wasn't there?"
"But it is there!" cried Harry. "I know it is!"