It must have been a terrible moment for Paymaster Lagerlöf when he realized that through a misunderstanding on the part of his man the money-chest had been left out in the sledge. That the crofter had stolen it was plain. But what had he done with it? Could he have opened it? The chest was the regulation bailiff’s strong-box, iron bound, with combination lock. But at that, they might perhaps have pried it open.
They left the horse standing in the road, and ran back to the hut. When they burst into the house they found four rough-looking men sitting by the fire with the crofter and his wife, none of whom showed the least surprise. Bengt knew the men at once for the worst desperadoes in the district.
“Now ’tis just as I said,” the woman began, “that ye’d not be able to get home till the snow-plow’d been run afore ye.”
“Oh, we’ll manage to get home,” said the Paymaster of the Regiment. “But my money-chest is still in your house, and that I must have along with me.”
“Well, well, can it be possible that ye went off and left the money-box!” said the woman. “Then it must be standing in the bedroom. No one’s been in there since ye left.”
“The box was not forgotten,” said the Paymaster, sternly. “So produce it at once! You know what happens to those who steal the Crown’s money.”
“Now where could we hide a big money-chest?” the woman protested blandly. “Ye can see for yerself what’s here, and ye’re welcome to search the house.”
And that Bengt had already done. He had peered and poked into every nook and corner—and had found nothing.
“If you won’t give it up willingly,” said the Paymaster, “I shall have to leave my man here on guard while I go for the bailiff.”
“What, that fellow stay and keep guard over us!” almost laughed the woman.