Frank’s eyes brightened and Professor Barrington uttered a cry of delight The farm lad had placed upon the table the stolen satchel. It seemed to Frank as if a great weight had been lifted from his mind. Certainly the situation had cleared wonderfully.
Professor Barrington grasped the satchel in both hands. Frank had never seen him so excited as he tore it open. Then the old savant dug down into the open receptacle with feverish haste. Its contents covered the table. He fell back, stared at the various articles in astonishment and began to rub his head in a bewildered way.
“I declare!” he said, feebly. “Confusion worse confounded! Not mine, after all.”
“If you mean the satchel,” spoke Frank, quickly pouncing upon the article in question, “it is the one I got back from the fellow who tried to steal it with the hollow satchel. Of that I am positive—see, here is the strap and the buckle I kept under my foot when he got aboard.”
“But that—truck?” objected the professor. “Why, just look at it—a pair of gloves, a veil, a lady’s toilet outfit and a dressing sack.”
“That’s so,” assented Frank, for the moment all at sea. Then he took up an envelope bearing an address. It read: “Mrs. Clara Barnes,” and had been directed to the hotel in New York City, where the professor had lived during his recent stay there.
“I think I understand,” said Frank to himself, and his thoughts cleared. He placed the envelope in his pocket and proceeded to repack the satchel, while he inquired of the boy who had brought it to them:
“How did you happen to come across this satchel?”
“Why, you see I saw two men squabbling over it,” explained the farm lad.
“That was when?” pressed Frank. “I wish you would describe what they were like.”