“Hanged if I believe you did!” Lon had been studying the boy keenly. “You’ve got as much of Old Nick in you as the next ’un, generally, but you _have_ been behavin’ pretty well lately. And you ain’t a liar any time. So it looks as if we’d got to add this to the list o’ mysteries, ’long with who struck Billy Patterson. Only I do wish I could lay hands on the skunk that made all this mess, and argy with him a while on the error of his ways.” And Lon frowned as he turned his gaze to the water-soaked planks. Sam went on to the house, but only to find himself again in the rôle of defendant. The complainant this time was Maggie, who swooped down upon him when he entered the kitchen. She caught him by the arm, dragged him across the room, and pointed tragically to a tub, in which were soaking several mud-stained garments. “See all the trouble you’re makin’ me, you imp!” she cried. “How do you s’pose I’m a-goin’ to do all the work of this big house, with you snoopin’ round, and breakin’ my clothes-line, and lettin’ down half a wash into the dirt? All them things to be put to soak and done over! I tell you I just won’t stand it, I won’t! We’ll see, Mr. Sam, what your mother’ll have to say to such tricks!” Sam wriggled free. “But, Maggie, you’re all wrong,” he protested. “I didn’t break the clothes-line.” Maggie sniffed incredulously. “Course not! Must have been Hannibal or the cat! Go ’way with you, tryin’ to bamboozle me with such talk!” Poor Sam felt like throwing up his hands in despair, or bursting into vehement denials. But once more he was reminded of the stake for which he was playing. “Honestly, Maggie, I had nothing to do with dropping the wash,” he declared so emphatically that she could not but be impressed. “I didn’t even notice that you’d hung it out. And as for breaking the line----” “Well, somebody broke it!” said Maggie tartly. “Look at it!” And she snatched a coil of rope from a shelf above the tub. Sam gravely inspected the parted strands. “Well, it is broken, fast enough,” he began. “That is”--he was peering hard at the end of the line--“that is, it isn’t broken--I was mistaken; this has been cut.” “What do you mean?” “Cut with a knife--and a sharp knife, at that. Made a clean gash. No accident there, Maggie!” The cook took time to make careful examination. “My stars, Sam Parker, but you’ve got a head on you, after all!” she declared. “Who’d ’a’ thought it! No; I don’t mean the head--it’s the miserable meanness of the job. But who on earth would be so ugly?” “I don’t know,” said Sam. “Anyway, though, I’m not the fellow.” “Well, puttin’ it that way, I don’t suppose you are,” Maggie admitted. “But I’d give a pretty penny to be able to figure out who is.” “So would I,” Sam agreed gravely.