“'No,' says I, emphatic. 'I said 'twas law he was tryin' to get away from. His tastes run large to literation and poetry.' “'Hum!' says Peter again. 'All papers are more or less literary--even trust agreements. Hum!' “'All the same,' says I, 'I'll bet my Sunday beaver that HE never took it.' “They didn't answer, but looked solemn. Then the three of us went on watch. “Nobody made a move to go out that evenin'. I kept whatever mail was handed in, but there was nothin' that looked like any agreements, and nothin' addressed to Gordon or his lawyers. At twelve or so, the detective come. Peter drove up to the depot to meet the special. He told the whole yarn on the way down. “The detective was a nice enough chap, and we agreed he should be 'Mr. Snow,' of New York, gunnin' for health and ducks. He said the watch must be kept up all night, and in the mornin' he'd make his fust move. So said, so done. “And afore breakfast that next mornin' we called everybody into the dinin' room, boarders, help, stable hands, every last one. And Peter made a little speech. He said that a very valuable paper had been taken out of Mr. Robinson's room, and 'twas plain that it must be on the premises somewhere. 'Course, nobody was suspicioned, but, speakin' for himself, he'd feel better if his clothes and his room was searched through. How'd the rest feel about it? “Well, they felt diff'rent ways, but Parker spoke up like a brick, and said he wouldn't rest easy till HIS belongin's was pawed over, and then the rest fell in line. We went through everybody and every room on the place. Found nothin', of course. Snow--the detective--said he didn't expect to. But I tell you there was some talkin' goin' on, just the same. The minister, he hinted that he had some doubts about them dissipated gunners; and the gunners cal'lated they never see a parson yet wouldn't bear watchin'. As for me, I felt like a pickpocket, and, judgin' from Jonadab's face, he felt the same. “The detective man swooped around quiet, bobbin' up in unexpected places, like a porpoise, and askin' questions once in a while. He asked about most everybody, but about Willie, especial. I judged Peter T. had dropped a hint to him and to Gabe. Anyhow, the old critter give out that he wouldn't trust a poet with the silver handles on his grandmarm's coffin. As for Grace, she acted dreadful nervous and worried. Once I caught her swabbin' her eyes, as if she'd been cryin'; but I'd never seen her and Willie together but the one time I told you of. “Four days and nights crawled by. No symptoms yet. The Pinkertons was watchin' the Gordon lawyers' office in New York, and they reported that nothin' like that agreement had reached there. And our own man--Snow--said he'd go bail it hadn't been smuggled off the premises sense HE struck port. So 'twas safe so far; but where was it, and who had it?