“You didna? Oh, the slyness o’ him! As sure as my name’s Jean Clunie, he was the thief.”
“Well!” said Phil ruefully, “he has made a deuce of a jumble of my clothes. But he came to the wrong room if he came for valuables.”
“I was busy and I told him to run up and get them. Oh, the cunnin’ de’il. Is there nothing missing?”
“Nothing that I know of; certainly nothing valuable, for I don’t own any such!”
“Bide a minute till I get that note,” exclaimed the perspiring and excited landlady.
She returned in a minute with the paper.
Phil read it over. It was written in a rough hand, in pencil.
Mrs. Clunie,
Please allow bearer into my room to get my spurs for me. He will know where to find them.
Phil Ralston.
Phil scratched his head.