So the investigation began, but it resulted in no definite knowledge concerning the character of the prize. Eyes were of course useless, and fingers were of little less avail. “It feels something like the boy on the rim of our fountain basin,” said Ben after passing his hand carefully over the object from end to end. “But of course it can’t be that. Anyway, now we’ve got it what are we going to do with it?” “Carry it to Hal McCormack’s and leave it on his porch,” said the boy with the shrill voice. “Let him find out what it is, an’ whose it is, an’ carry it home to-morrow morning. I bet he’s had plenty of fun to-night at somebody else’s expense; now let’s have a little fun at his expense.” “Well, don’t waste time,” cautioned Ben. “If you’re going to take it to McCormack’s, come along!” But the boy who was bearing the heavy end of the burden hesitated. “Say,” he whispered, “can’t one o’ you fellows take my end? I barked my shin on the blamed thing up there, and it hurts.” “Sure!” replied Ben. “Here; let me have it. Hurry up!” But, in attempting to relieve his comrade, Ben failed to make his grasp secure; the end of the marble figure slipped from his hands, fell to the pavement, and was broken off almost midway of the statue, the remaining portion still secure in the grip of a boy named Bob. The crash of the fall broke ominously into the stillness of the deserted street. For the first time that night the boys were really frightened. “The jig’s up!” whispered one of them, as the fog-muffled echoes died away. “Let’s leave the thing here on the walk an’ skedaddle,” said another. “Let’s take it back on the porch,” said a third. “No! I tell you, no!” exclaimed Ben. “We can’t leave it here now. We’ve got to take it away.” He stooped and picked up the fragment nearest to him as he spoke. “Can you handle that other end alone, Bob?” he asked. “I’ve got this one; come on!” Leading the way, he started off into the darkness, and his fellows followed him. There was little attempt now to soften their footsteps. It was primarily a question of haste. At the corner of the street the boy with the shrill voice asked where they were going. “To Hal McCormack’s, you simpleton!” answered Ben impatiently. “Isn’t that where you said you wanted to go?” “Yes.” “Then come along, and don’t stop to ask fool questions.” The accident, and the thought of its possible consequences, had irritated him beyond measure, though he alone had been responsible for the breaking of the marble. So to Hal McCormack’s house, three blocks away, they went. No words were spoken. The matter had become too serious. The two boys carrying the separated fragments mounted the steps cautiously and deposited their several burdens on the porch floor. “Now,” said Ben, as he retraced his steps to the sidewalk, “beat it!” They did not wait upon the order of their going, but went at once.