We left in such a hurry that we forgot to lock up the office. While we were gone, Monkey Roe sauntered in, found Holman's acrostic which Ned had pieced together, and, when he went away, carried it with him.
CHAPTER XIII.
A LYRIC STRAIN.
The impulse which had sent Ned and me headlong toward Jimmy's home as soon as we heard of the accident, found itself exhausted when we reached the gate. As if by concert, we both came to a dead halt.
"What shall we do?" said Ned. "If Jimmy was alive, we could whistle and call him out; or we might even go and knock at the door. But I don't know how to go into a house where somebody's dead. I wish we had gone first and asked Jack-in-the-Box what was the right way to do."
"Perhaps Jimmy isn't dead," said I. "There's no black crape on the door."
"That doesn't prove it," said Ned; "for Jimmy's folks might not have any crape in the house."
While we were still debating the question, the front door opened, and Jack-in-the-Box came out.
"You're the very boy—I mean man—I wanted to see," said Ned, running up to him, and speaking in a whisper.