“Right-o!” said Peanut.
It was time now to start for the dinner party. They tied the handkerchief to the bushes by the path, and everybody counted his own steps out to the road, in case the mark should be lost, or taken down by some passer-by. Then they moved up the road, past the gaily lighted Profile House, where they could see the guests eating in the big dining-room with its large plate glass windows, and again rang the bell of Mr. Goodwin’s house—but more quietly this time.
A servant ushered them in, and Mr. Goodwin and his wife and son and daughter at once came forward to greet them. The house was elaborately furnished for a summer “cottage,” and the boys were rather conscious of their scout clothes and especially of their hobnail boots.
“Gee,” whispered Art, “keep on the rugs all you can, or we’ll dig holes in these hardwood floors.”
“So these are Peanut and Art,” said Mr. Goodwin, after introductions all around, turning to the pair who had given the alarm the night before. “I’m sorry to say, we can’t have dinner till the sheriff has disposed of you two chaps. He’s waiting in the library now with a stenographer.”
Mr. Goodwin led the way into his library, where, sure enough, the sheriff was sitting.
“Here are your men,” said the host. “Don’t keep ’em too long. We’re all hungry.”
The rest of the party sat near by and listened, while the sheriff swore in Art and Peanut. First they had to hold up their right hands and swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Then they gave their names, ages and residence, while the stenographer’s pencil was busy making shorthand marks which Peanut, regarding out of the corner of his eye, thought looked more like hen tracks than anything else.
“Now, tell me exactly what happened last night, from the beginning,” said the sheriff. “I don’t want to ask you to come way up here from Massachusetts for the trial, so I’m taking this sworn testimony now. I think we have evidence enough to make your actual presence unnecessary.”
Peanut started in on the story, told of his being awakened by the sound of the motor stopping in the road, of waking Art, of their sneaking out through the bushes, and hearing the two burglars talk.