He was too smart a crook to disappear right on top of the robbery, and hung around saying he was looking for another place. He met up with Larkin but at first didn’t know he was a detective. When the offer came from Ferguson he took it, intending to stay a while, then say his folks in the old country needed him and slip away to Spain. It was the day after he’d accepted Ferguson’s offer that he learned what Larkin was, and saw that both he and the Janneys had their suspicions of Chapman Price. This disturbed him, but he couldn’t throw up the job he’d just taken without exciting remark. To be ready, however, he dug up the jewels—he’d buried them in the woods—and put them handy under the flooring of his room. One day, looking over Ferguson’s things, he came on the cigar band in the box on the bureau. It gave him a jar, for he couldn’t see why it was put there. He’d heard from the servants about Ferguson and Miss Maitland walking home that night through the woods and began to wonder if maybe they’d found the band. The thought ruffled him up considerably, and then he put it out of his mind, telling himself it was one from a cigar Ferguson had brought from Grasslands and smoked in his room. Nevertheless, to be on the safe side, he threw it away, very much on the alert, as you may guess. It wasn’t a week later that he had the interview with Ferguson about the band. Then he saw by the young man’s manner and words why the little crushed circle of paper had a meaning of its own, and knew that the time had come to vanish. He still felt safe enough to do this without haste, not rousing any suspicion by a too sudden departure. His opportunity came quickly—on Friday morning he heard Ferguson tell the butler that he was going to town and would be away for a day or two; by the time he came back his valet would be far afield. Right after Ferguson’s departure he put the jewels in a bag, and, telling the butler the boss had given him the day and night off, prepared to leave. He was crossing the hall when the telephone rang—my message—and being wary of danger, answered it. It was only a lady asking for Mr. Ferguson, and, calm and steady as his voice had made me, started out for the station. Mice and men again!—I was the mouse this time. Gracious, what a battered mouse I was!