“I’ve seen them tied tighter. Didn’t have to cut the rope—slipped it down over his elbows. A botchy job.”
“This organ-grinder?”
“Swarthy, with a heavy mustache. Not over four and one-half feet tall and weighing about 135.”
“How much do you weigh, Ira?” the doctor asked.
The hired man answered without interest. “One hundred eighty-five pounds.”
Joe, trying to read his uncle’s face, found it inscrutable. And yet the question meant something. The pipe had gone out; Dr. Stone lighted it again.
“Let’s try to reconstruct this crime, Tucker. At four o’clock Billy left the house with feed for the rabbits. After that—a blank. Did he feed the rabbits and wander on? Did he ever reach the warren?”
“No,” Mr. Foster choked. “Whatever happened to him happened here.”
And then, for the first time, Joe saw what lay upon the ground in the moonlight—the shattered pieces of a blue plate, scraps of lettuce and carrot, and a boy’s cap. Evidently, Billy Foster had never reached the rabbit warren with the feed. While Captain Tucker described the scene to the blind man, Joe picked up the cap. Why, they were in full view of the house. Could a boy be kidnaped in broad daylight from his own doorstep?
“It couldn’t have happened,” Captain Tucker insisted testily. “Not here. The place is too open. Probably something startled the boy and he dropped the plate.”