"That’s one of the things he’s been talking about. He says if he makes a move it’ll look suspicious, and if he stays he’ll be ruined. He certainly is up against it." I shot a glance from the kitchen to the bar door and then leaned across the table, almost whispering: "I don’t see that our investigations have got us anything but a bad supper." "Neither do I," he whispered back. "The place looks like a stage setting for The Bandits’ Den, but the people don’t impress me that way at all." The kitchen door swung back and Mrs. Hines came in with a pumpkin pie that tasted like it was baked for Thanksgiving. She hovered round, fussing about us and joining in the conversation. You could see she was hungry for someone to talk to. Both she and her husband impressed me that way, as if they were most crazy with the dreariness of the place, and were ready to fasten on anybody who’d speak civil to them and listen to their troubles. Before we left, Babbitts went into the bar to settle up and I, remembering Tecla’s complaints, called her in from the kitchen and fished a quarter out of my new purse. She was as pleased as a child, grinning all over, and wanting to shake hands with me, which I hated but couldn’t avoid. When we were once more in the road I gave a gasp of relief. I felt as if I’d crept out from under a shadow, that was gradually sinking into me, down to the marrow of my bones. The night was cold, but a different kind; fresh and clear, the smell of the damp fields in the air, and the country quiet and peaceful. We had a good two miles before us and stepped out lively. It was dark; the clouds mottled over the sky; and in one place, where the moon was hidden, a little brightness showing through the cracks. Babbitts said he thought they’d break and that we’d have the moonlight on our way back. All around us the landscape stretched black and still. When you got accustomed to it, you could see the outlines of the hills against the sky, one darkness set against another, and the line of the road showing faint between the edgings of bushes. We couldn’t hear anything but our own footsteps, soft and padding because of the mud, and off and on the rustling of the twigs as I brushed against them. I don’t remember ever being out on a quieter night, and there was something lovely and soothing about it after that horrible house. We hadn’t gone far—about ten minutes, I should think—when I suddenly clasped my wrist and felt that my purse was gone. I had taken it off to give Tecla the quarter and I remember I’d laid it on the supper table when she made me shake hands. "Oh dear!" I said, stopping short. "What shall I do—I’ve left my purse there." Babbitts stared at me through the dark. "At Hines’?" "Yes, on the supper table. And it’s new, I’d only just bought it. Oh, I _can’t_ lose it." "You needn’t. We’ve time, but you’ll have to hit up the pace. Come on quick—that’s not just the place I’d select to leave a purse in."