whoever they were, they cleaned up the cash-drawer.” He walked over to it and stared into it, hands in pocket. “There ought to have been a lock on it, though I don’t suppose that would have kept them out.” He turned away, and as he did so something white on the floor under the counter caught his eye. Picking it up, he bore it to the light. It proved to be a crumpled wad of papers. Chub smoothed them out, revealing Harry’s memoranda of sales, the letter to Jennie, and the letter to Mrs. Peel. Both envelopes had been torn open.
“Guess they thought there might be money in them,” said Chub. Then—“Look here, Harry,” he said, “I’m going to read this one to Jennie and see if Mrs. Peel says when she’s coming back. Under the circumstances I think it’s allowable, don’t you?”
“Yes,” answered Harry. “I do. Because she ought to know what’s happened, and if she isn’t coming to-day or to-morrow we must write to her.”
So Chub opened the letter and read it aloud:
