“We had a burglar.”
Her eyes glowed. “No! I bet he didn’t steal anything! I bet, if he really looked the place over, and if he was a nice burglar, he left something for us when he went out! Five dollars, maybe, on the hall table!”
“I was the burglar.”
“Oh!” Her eyes looked up and laughed. “What’d you rob? The kids’ banks?”
“Harry’s room. His closet. The locked closet.”
“Harry hasn’t got a locked anything! That poor, sweet guy is the world’s openest book!”
Duff rinsed a white-peeled potato, cut it up, started another. “I’d have agreed, two hours ago. He’s still probably innocent. Just keeping something that some pal asked him to put under lock and key.”
“What are you talking about, Duff Bogan?”
He told her. “First, you see, it was going to be a gag. Then I got curious. The lock on that box was a new one to me. And then, the gadget inside—”
“Sounds like some sort of trophy.”