en stolen. Both of them gazed with interest at the cunning
movements and the agile performances of the little creatures.

"I see why you remained down cellar so long," said the detective, with
a smile.

"I was at work on that mouse-house," replied Leo, pointing to the
bench.

The palace in process of construction was somewhat different from the
others. Instead of being open in front of the "grand parade," it had a
glass door, so that the occupants of the establishment could be seen,
but could not fall out.

"What is that one for?" asked Mr. Clapp.

"I'm making that for Mr. Stropmore," answered Leo. "I gave him one lot,
but his cat killed them all. The cat can't get at them in this house,
and they can't fall out."

"Elinora would like to see them," said Mr. Checkynshaw, graciously.

"I should be very glad to show them to her, or to give her as many of
them as she wants," replied Leo.

"Perhaps she will come and see them. But, Mr. Clapp, we must attend to
business."

The detective was in no hurry to attend to business, so interested was
he in the performances of the mice. He was quite satisfied that a boy
whose thoughts were occupied as Leo's were could not be implicated in
the robbery. The banker led the way up stairs, and Leo was questioned
again. He described the rogue once more, and was sure he should know
him if he saw him again. The banker said he would call and see Mrs.
Wittleworth and her son, while the detective was to take the night
train for New York, where "Mr. Hart" was supposed to have gone. The
officer, who knew all the rogues, was confident, from the description,
that the thief was "Pilky Wayne," a noted "confidence man." The theft
was according to his method of operation.

"Where do you suppose father is?" asked Maggie, as Leo was about to
leave the house to show Mr. Checkynshaw where Mrs. Wittleworth lived.
"It is after seven o'clock, and he is never so late as this."

"I don't know," replied Leo. "I haven't seen him since one o'clock."

The banker was disturbed by the question. It would be annoying to tell
such a pretty and interesting young lady, poor girl though she was,
that her father was very ill. It would make a "scene," and he would be
expected to comfort her in her great grief.

"Your father--Is he your father, miss?" asked he, doubtfully.

"He is just the same. He adopted both Leo and me," replied Maggie.

"He went to my house, this afternoon, to dress my daughter's hair,"
ad