He thought the police-station the best receptacle for the strange wanderer.
"I've taken Beechwood, you know," went on the excited young man, "and I'm doing some excavating there on my own. I belong to the Archæological Society. I've found traces of Roman occupation here. I've had some experts down and there's no doubt that there was a Roman villa on the site of Beechwood. I found some most valuable coins this afternoon and I've been robbed of them. They're irreplaceable!"
"Who stole them?" said Mr. Brown. He was rather bored by the whole proceeding. He was anxious to deposit the strange young man in the police-station and continue his walk.
"Mere boys," said the young man. "Mere boys. They pushed earth in on me and shouted some gibberish and made off with the coins. Probably some rival collector heard of the thing and sent them."
"Probably," agreed Mr. Brown without interest. "Well, here's the station. I'll say good-night and good luck."
He touched his hat and was on the point of proceeding with his walk, but the young man was pathetically anxious to confide the whole tale.
"I've really no clue," he said sorrowfully. "The coins were in an old tin—simply an old tin. Well, I suppose I'd better go in. Good-night."
Mr. Brown was standing motionless. He seemed to have lost all desire to proceed with his walk. His smile had faded from his face. He was seeing a sudden vision of two small boys, red-faced and breathless, but wearing looks of innocence that blazoned guilt far and wide, creeping cautiously upstairs. One of the boys had held an old tin in his hand—simply an old tin. He turned to the young man. The young man had already reached the door of the police-station.
"Here!" shouted Mr. Brown, "one minute!"
The man returned to him.