"
"In the wrong places," suggested Stumper, remembering his Indian
scouting days.
"In the wrong way," put in Uncle Felix, full of experience by now.
The Policeman listened attentively, as though by rights he ought to
enter these sentences laboriously in his notebook.
"That's it, per'aps," he stated. "It takes 'em longer, but they finds
out in the end. If I was to show 'em the right way of looking instead
of arresting 'em--I'd be _reel_!" And then he added, as if he were
giving evidence in a Court of Justice and before a County Magistrate,
"There's no good looking for anything where it ain't, now is there?"
"Precisely," agreed Colonel Stumper, remembering happily that his
pockets were full of snail-shells. He knew _his_ sign.
Thompson, Mrs. Horton, Weeden, and the Policeman glanced at him
gratefully. But it was the last mentioned who replied:
"Because every one," he said with conviction at last, "has his own way
of looking, and even the burgular is only looking wrong." He, too, it
seemed, had found himself.
Their search, their endless hunt, their conversation and adventures
thus might be reported endlessly, if only the book-shelves of the
world were built more stoutly, and everybody could find an Extra Day
lying about in which to read it all.
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