“There’s a slant to this I don’t understand,” he said slowly. “That boy was kidnaped in broad daylight. Snapped out of his own yard. How could a stranger have brought him through a village where he was known? How could he have been taken past his own house out to the road?”
“I have been thinking about that,” Dr. Stone admitted. The blind face was again intent. “Suppose we go back to the house.”
Mr. Foster hurried toward them with pathetic haste. “Any news?”
“The organ-grinder left for Peekskill on the 6:29,” Captain Tucker told him. “I’ve telephoned and wired. They’ll pick him up when the train gets there.”
“Was Billy with him?”
The captain made a merciful answer. “I’m not sure.”
Ira Close came across the yard through the moonlight. “You want me to pick up those pieces of plate, Mr. Foster?”
“I’ll take care of them, Ira. I—I don’t want Mrs. Foster to see them.”
“Have you his cap?” Dr. Stone asked with that same understanding gentleness. “I don’t believe he was ever taken out to the road. Now, Tucker, if you’ll lead me to where the plate was dropped—. Lady, forward.”
Joe could feel Ira Close beside him rubbing the injured hand as though it pained, but his eyes were on the man walking beside the dog. They came to the shattered pieces of crockery. The doctor held the cap to the dog’s nose.