"I'm a p'liceman," lisped Augustus, with engaging inconsequence, "stationed here to guard de lane. I fought it was safest to keep de door locked for fear some more gypsy people might come along." "Where's the ladder gone to that loft?" "De ladder?" Augustus raised wide innocent eyes to the hole in the ceiling. "Maybe de same person stole de ladder as stole de ovver fings." "Maybe," Peter assented genially, as he squinted up through the opening. The end of the ladder was visible, also the end of a rope-ladder, easier to haul up in emergencies. The clothes-line at least was accounted for. Peter took off his coat, shoved a saw-horse under the opening, and sprang and caught the edge of the scuttle, while Augustus, in a frenzy of remonstrance, danced below and shouted warnings. After a few convulsive kicks Peter swung himself up and sat down on the edge of the scuttle to get his breath, while he took a preliminary survey of the room. There was no doubt but that he had tracked the robbers to their den. Opposite him, in letters a foot high, the legend sprawled the length of the wall: TOM SAWYER'S ROBBER GANG As his eyes roved about the room they lit on one familiar object after another. The four walls were hung with sheets; two pirate flags of black broadcloth (he recognized his lap-robes) fluttered overhead; the centre of the room was occupied by the umbrella-stand, upside down, serving as a pedestal for the Bible, and the tomato stakes, made into cross swords, decorated the walls. The booty was there, but the thieves had escaped. A second, more thorough examination, however, betrayed in a shadowy corner, a slight bulging of the sheets, while sundry legs protruded from below. Peter stalked over, and laying a firm grasp on the nearest ankle, plucked out Master Wallace from behind the arras. He set the boy on his feet and shook him. "What have ye done with that baby?" Wallace dug his fists into his eyes and commenced to whimper. Peter tried another cast, and fetched out Master Bobby. "Hello, Pete!" said Bobby, with cheerful impudence. "You cough up that baby," said Peter. "He's in the wash-boiler." Bobby waved his hand airily toward the opposite end of the room. Peter, still grasping Bobby's collar with a touch unpleasantly firm, strode across and raised the lid. The baby was sleeping as peacefully as in his own perambulator. "We were just going to return him when you came." Bobby's voice contained an increasing note of anxiety. "We fed him and sterilized his milk just like Annie does. He's been having a bully time, laughing and crowing to beat the band. He likes adventures. It's terribly stupid lying all day in that carriage; a little change is good for his health." Peter shook his captive. "What's the meanin' o' this?" His gesture included the entire interior.