The Robbery

The following morning, at the breakfast table, Paul happened to glance at the front page of the Stanhope Herald which Dr. Morrison was reading. At the bottom of the page, boxed off, was a story with the headline PROFESSOR LINK’S HOUSE ROBBED. Paul became quite upset and found it difficult to eat his cereal. However, he controlled himself and did not show any untoward interest in the newspaper. His father finished breakfast first, and he laid down the paper and left for his office. Paul gulped down his milk, picked up the paper and went out on the porch.

The story was that someone had broken into Professor Link’s home and had stolen a valuable, early edition of “Colonial History.” Nothing else was taken, except that the thief had strewn many of the books on the floor. The theory was that the thief had entered by an open window in the library.

Ken came dashing across the street and up to the porch. “Hey, Paul!” he cried, “did you read the story in the morning paper?” Paul held up the paper. “So you know already?”

Jack came. “Well, what do you think of the robbery?” he asked bluntly. “I had a feeling we should not have gone to the movies last night.”

“What could we have done?” asked Ken.

“We might have come upon him and possibly frustrated his plan.”

“So!” exclaimed Ken. “You think that ‘he’ did it? Pretty soon you will have every crime under the sun charged up against him.”

“I don’t think we could have done anything,” commented Paul. “The paper says that the robbery occurred any time after about midnight, when the professor says he left his library to go to bed.”

“But we might have come across him sometime before and followed him. Then we might about have judged what he was up to.” Thus argued Jack.

“Maybe yes and maybe no,” was Paul’s pert statement.

“Paul,” demanded Ken, “you don’t mean to tell me that you really believe this man, this so-called maniac, committed the robbery, do you?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Tell me, how do you figure it out?”

“It’s very simple,” was Paul’s answer. “Only one book was stolen. Of course, the book was an old edition and valuable, but valuable only to a man like Professor Link. In actual money, the book is worth perhaps ten or fifteen dollars; but if the thief was going to sell it, he wouldn’t get more than four or five dollars for it.”

“Yes,” added Jack, “there were more valuable things in the room, if the thief had been interested in stealing something valuable. That is in itself enough to show that the thief, whoever he was, was either a maniac or one who was interested in obtaining only that book and nothing else. But an ordinary, normal man, would not break into a house to steal something like that.”

“Maybe,” remarked Ken doubtfully, “but—”

Paul interrupted, saying, “Let’s go over to Bobolink and get him to go over to Professor Link. He is Bobolink’s grandfather, isn’t he?”

“Yes. Let’s do that.”

The boys wended their way to Bobolink’s home and luckily found him still in. He was glad to see them, and commented, “I was just going to call you fellows.”

“What for?”

“I thought that perhaps you might be interested in accompanying me to my grandfather’s home.”

“That’s why we came for you,” Jack informed him.

“Good. I’ll be with you in a minute.”

Professor Link who lived alone except for a woman who cooked and kept house for him, was a retired college professor and an authority in colonial history. He occupied a small, private house of his own and spent his time writing books on the history of the early pioneering days.

His three companions behind him, Bobolink rang the bell. The housekeeper opened the door. “Good morning, Mrs. Hix,” greeted Bobolink. “Is my grandfather in?”

Mrs. Hix answered, “He is in the library.”

The boys filed in and Bobolink knocked on the library door. “Come in,” someone called.

The boys entered. Mr. Link was a gray haired man of about sixty with a warm smile, who was very friendly to young people. “Hello, Gramps,” greeted Bobolink.

“Hello, fellows,” returned the professor. “What are you doing here?” he asked curiously.

“Just thought we would pay you a visit,” his grandson informed him.

“That’s very nice of you, but I wonder what is behind it. Sit down, boys.”

The walls of the room were lined with books. And it appeared that the mess that the thief had caused was all cleaned up. “What about that robbery, Gramps?” asked Bobolink.

Paul was walking around the room, pretending to be looking at the books. Actually he was searching for something. He paused to hear the professor’s answer to the question. “Not much harm done.”

“Was it a valuable book?” asked Jack.

“Not so particularly valuable; a book on colonial history.”

“Isn’t it rather odd that the thief should take that particular book and nothing else?” asked Paul casually.

Professor Link pursed his lips. “Rather,” he answered. “If he had been out to steal, he could have found more valuable things to take. He might even have found some money in the drawer of my desk, if he had looked.”

“But nothing else was touched?” Paul asked the question and was anxious to hear the answer. “No. Nothing else seems to have been taken.” Bobolink and Ken discussed with the professor the state university to which they were going, entering as freshmen in September. Paul walked around the back of the desk. He glanced down into the waste-paper basket. His heart almost stopped still. He picked something out of the basket and said to the professor, “Do you mind if I use this to copy down the name of a book?” Professor Link looked at the card. “Not at all. Where did you get it?”

“In the waste basket.” Paul turned the card to show that it was blank on both sides.

The boys stared at Paul and at the white card. “Here is some clean paper,” the professor said, and pushed forward a white pad. “And here is a pencil,” he added.

“This is perfectly all right,” asserted Paul. Picking up the pencil, he pretended that he was copying down the title of a book.

The boys were eager to get out, yet they could not very well show haste without making the professor suspicious. So they lingered for an additional twenty minutes, discussing colleges and college life. At last they escaped. As soon as they were outside the door, Bobolink opened his mouth to ask a question. But Paul cautioned him. “Sh! Let’s wait until we are further away from the house.”

Some distance away, Bobolink finally asked his question. “What was that card you picked out of the basket?”

Paul took it out of his pocket and showed it to them—a white card, blank on both sides, and three by two inches. “You have your card, Jack?” asked Paul. “Mine is home.”

“Yes, here it is.” And he produced it.

The cards were compared; they were identical. “Well, now what do you think of that!” exclaimed Bobolink.

“In every case,” whispered Paul seriously, “the same person. This is becoming terrible.”

“Yes,” agreed Ken. “I’m coming to look at it from your point of view. And from now on we have to take it more seriously and do something.”

“What can we do?” asked Bobolink.

“You know what?” remarked Paul. “If I didn’t think we would be laughed at, I would tell the police.”

“Aw, go on,” said Ken. “If all the evidence you have is the white card and the fact that Jack followed a suspicious looking person, they would think that you were either crazy or trying to put something over.”

“That’s the trouble,” asserted Paul. “In that case it is up to us to solve the mystery and put an end to it.”

“Well said,” commented Bobolink, “but how are we going to do it?”