The clothes-line thief was very sensitive on the subject, and felt
greatly aggrieved that he should be accused of picking his own pocket,
for he protested that he had "found" the garment. The fancied
insinuation indeed was so strongly resented that John wondered if it
might not be a proverbial case of "hit birds flutter."
Neither police nor court of justice had examined the pocket; nor had
they been aware of the existence of one. The bishop could throw no light
on the missing article, and this call ended the successless tour of
investigation.
"It was truly a profitable investment for the Jenkins family," thought
John, "but a sorry one for me."
Having now wended his weary and unavailing way into all the places
listed, John made his final report to Colette who remained adamant in
her resolve.
"Of course some of those people did find it," she maintained. "It stands
to reason they must have done so, and it is up to you now to find out
which one of them is the guilty person."
"How can I find that out, Colette?"
"How? Anyhow!" she replied, her mien betraying great triumph at her
powers of logic.
"It must be found!" she asserted with a distinct air of finality. "And
until it is found--"
She stopped abruptly.
"Was it of value? No, I am not trying to find out what it was since you
don't wish me to know, but if I knew its value, it might help me to
decide who would be the most likely to have a motive for taking it. But
my belief is that the article slipped from the pocket and is lost."
"It must be found then" she persisted obstinately.
John went home to ponder over his hopeless task. It remained for
Amarilly with her optimistic spirit to cheer him.
"It'll turn up some place whar you never looked fer it and when you
ain't thinkin' nuthin' about it," she asserted believingly. "Lost things
allers do."
Despite her philosophy she was greatly distressed over the disappearance
of the mysterious article whose loss was keeping John so unhappy. She
ransacked the house from the cellar to the Boarder's room, but found no
trace of it.
"I wonder what it was," she mused.
"Mebby Miss King dreamt she put something in there, and when could she
have done it anyhow? Mebby she give him a present, and he slipped it in
there and fergot to take it out when he sent it to us. But then it would
have come out in the wash. She don't seem to feel so bad as he does--
jest sorter stubborn about it."