Mr. Goodwin led the way into his library, where, sure enough, the sheriff was sitting.
"Here are your men," said the host. "Don't keep 'em too long. We're all hungry."
The rest of the party sat near by and listened, while the sheriff swore in Art and Peanut. First they had to hold up their right hands and swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Then they gave their names, ages and residence, while the stenographer's pencil was busy making shorthand marks which Peanut, regarding out of the corner of his eye, thought looked more like hen tracks than anything else.
"Now, tell me exactly what happened last night, from the beginning," said the sheriff. "I don't want to ask you to come way up here from Massachusetts for the trial, so I'm taking this sworn testimony now. I think we have evidence enough to make your actual presence unnecessary."
Peanut started in on the story, told of his being awakened by the sound of the motor stopping in the road, of waking Art, of their sneaking out through the bushes, and hearing the two burglars talk.
"What did they say, as exactly as you can remember it?" asked the sheriff.
Peanut turned red, and glanced toward Mrs. Goodwin and her daughter. "Have I got to tell
