"'Cause the things is tempting. Quite half the children that gets stole is stole for what they've got upon their backs. Tramps and that sort will run a risk for a blue silk that they'd not run for a brown holland pinafore. Auburn curls, too," added Jenkins, shaking his head; "that's a temptation also. I've knowed children sent back home with bare heads afore now. Any ornaments, sir?" "She was safe to have on her little gold neck-chain and cross. They are very small, Jenkins--not worth much." Jenkins lifted his nose--not in disdain, it was a habit he had. "Not worth much to you, sir, who could buy such any day, but an uncommon bait to professional child-stealers. Were the cross a coral, or any stone of that sort?" "It was a small gold cross, and the chain was thin. They could only be seen when her cloak was off. Oh, I forgot the cloak; it was white: llama, I think they call it. She was going to a child's party." Some more questions and answers, most of which Jenkins took down. Handbills were to be printed and posted, and a reward offered on the morrow, if she was not previously found. Then we came away; there was nothing more to do at the station. "Wouldn't it have been better, Tod, had Jenkins gone out seeking her and telling of the loss abroad, instead of waiting to write all that down?" "Johnny, if we don't find her to night, I shall go mad," was all he answered. He went back down Alcester Street at a rushing pace--not a run but a quick walk. "Where are you going now?" I asked. "I'm going up hill and down dale until I find that gipsies' encampment. You can go on home, Johnny, if you are tired." I had not felt tired until we were in the police-station. Excitement keeps off fatigue. But I was not going to give in, and said I should stay with him. "All right, Johnny." Before we were clear of Alcester, Budd the land-agent came up. He was turning out of the public-house at the corner. It was dusk then. Tod laid hold of him. "Budd, you are always about, in all kinds of nooks and by-lanes: can you tell me of any encampment of gipsies between here and the Manor-house?" The agent's business took him abroad a great deal, you know, into the rural districts around. "Gipsies' encampment?" repeated Budd, giving both of us a stare. "There's none that I know of. In the spring, a lot of them had the impudence to squat down on the Marquis's----" "Oh, I know all that," interrupted Tod. "Is there nothing of the sort about now?" "I saw a miserable little tent to-day up Cookhill way," said Budd. "It might have been a gipsy's or a travelling tinker's. 'Twasn't of much account, whichever it was." Tod gave a spring. "Whereabouts?" was all he asked. And Budd explained where. Tod went off like a shot, and I after him.