The day the lap-robes disappeared, they were gathered in a group outside the stable, Peter tipped back in an old armchair pulling furiously at his pipe, with a double frown the length of his brow, the four boys occupying the bench in an excited, chattering row. "Perhaps the place is haunted!" Master Jerome put forth the suggestion with wide eyes. "Haunted nothin'," Peter growled. "It was a pretty live ghost that got off with them lap-robes durin' the two minutes the stable was empty." "They were the old ones," Bobby consoled him. "At least it was kind of him not to take the best ones when they were just as convenient." "Do you fink it's gypsies?" Master Augustus asked the question with a fearful glance over his shoulder. He had been told that gypsies carried off bad little boys. "I don't know what it is," Peter said sullenly, "but if I ever ketches anybody snooping about this place who has no business to snoop----" The sentence ended in a threatening silence. The four boys looked at one another and shuddered delightedly. "It's like a book," Master Wallace declared. "The miscreant has foiled us at every turn." "Let's form a detective bureau!" Bobby rose to the occasion. "You can be chief of the local police, Peter. And since you find the mystery beyond your power to solve, you have called to your aid a private detective force--that's us. Jerome and Wallace and me can be detectives, and Augustus can be a policeman." "I want to be a detective, too," objected Augustus. "It's nice to be a policeman," soothed Bobby. "When we've tracked down the thief, we'll call to you and say, 'Officer, handcuff this man!' and you'll snap 'em on his wrist and lead him to jail." "All right!" agreed Augustus. "Give 'em to me." "Later, when we're on his track," said Bobby. "Now, Peter, you ought to plan a campaign. 'Course, you aren't expected to find out anything, the local police never do; but nominally we're under your orders, so you must tell us to shadow some one." Peter had been staring into space only half at tending to their prattle. Bobby jogged his elbow. "Pay attention, Peter! We're waiting for orders. You ought to detail two plain-clothes men to watch the gates, and I think it would be well to shadow Vittorio. He's a foreigner, you know; maybe he b'longs to the Black Hand. I shouldn't wonder if he was planning to blow up the stables. Only," he added, as an afterthought, "it's sort of hard shadowing a man who stands by the hedge all day talking to Annie." Peter's frown darkened as his gaze sought the rustic bench under the apple tree. He had little spirit left for the boys' diversions, but he roused himself to say: "I'll turn the details o' the case over to you, Master Bobby. Guard the gates, an' shadow anyone that seems suspicious. I'm drivin' Joe's wife to the hospital this afternoon; ye can report at six o'clock, when I gets back."