“We wouldn’t hold you in suspense a moment longer than necessary. Tomorrow, at daybreak. Have you the cap, Joe? Don’t lose it.”
Ira rumbled a heavy “good-night” and passed from the moonlight into the shadow of the orchard. A woman’s voice called: “Pa! Pa! Captain Tucker’s wanted on the telephone.” The captain hurried toward the house. Dr. Stone spoke softly:
“Ira’s been with you a long time, Foster?”
“Nine years. Surly, but a good worker. A bit gruffer than usual tonight. Billy was always a little afraid of him; that’s probably on his mind. And then this shooting and the loss of his money.”
“Money?”
“Three hundred dollars. He drew it out yesterday to send to his sister and carried it in a hip pocket. That’s the pocket in which the organ-grinder put the note. The money’s gone.”
The blind man’s head was thrown back; Joe saw the lips strained and tight once more. Captain Tucker came out of the house, slowly.
“Bad news,” he blurted. “Our man fooled us. Wasn’t on the train; slipped off at one of the way stations.”
Mr. Foster swayed unsteadily. “Don’t,” he begged hoarsely, “tell Billy’s mother.”
The policeman walked down the driveway with the doctor. “That Italian may have left the train a station or two out, and come back for the boy. I’ve ordered every road out of the village guarded.”