“I thought I heard burglars about here last night, while on duty,” the policeman explained.  “I came up over the fence, and looked about the place, but couldn’t find anything.  Yes, I did, too, though.  I’ll talk about that in a moment.  You see, I went off duty at one o’clock this morning, so I didn’t spend much time here.  I’m on house reserve duty to-day.  Now, for what I found here.  I didn’t find a living soul in the yard, but on the ground, near one of the open sheds, I came upon a chisel wrapped in a newspaper.  I hid it, then, but I’ll show it to you now.  Maybe it belongs to the shop, and if so I’ve no business with it.  But, if you don’t recognize the chisel as yours, then I’ll take it up to the station house and turn it over to the chief.”

“After all that stretch o’ talk,” smiled Driggs, “you ought to show me a whole case full of chisels.”

“I hid it over here,” Curtis explained, going over to one of the open sheds.  “I tucked it in under this packing case.  Here it is, now, just where I left it.  Do you recognize it as yours?”

From the newspaper wrapping Driggs took the small but keen-edged implement.  He regarded it curiously.  Then he turned the paper over slowly.

“Do you recognize it?” persisted the policeman.

“Mebbe,” said Driggs.  “I guess you can leave it here.  But, in case any question should come up about it in the future, suppose you write your autograph on the handle of the chisel.”

Driggs passed over his fountain pen, the policeman obligingly obeying the request for his signature on the wood.

“Now, just for good measure, write your name across the top of the newspaper, too,” Driggs proposed.  Curtis did so.

“You seem to attach a good deal of importance to this find,” hinted the policeman.

“Mebbe,” assented Driggs indifferently.  “Mebbe not.  But you and I will both know this paper and the chisel again, if we see it, won’t we?”

“We ought to,” nodded the policeman.  “But you don’t consider the matter as important enough, then, to interest the police?”

“I wouldn’t think o’ bothering the police force about a trifling little matter like this,” returned Driggs carelessly.

Just as soon, however, as the policeman had gone, Driggs darted into his private office.  There he took up the telephone receiver and asked for Lawyer Ripley’s residence number.

“Is Master Fred at home!” he inquired, when a servant of the Ripley household answered the telephone.  Fred was at home, the servant replied, and then summoned Fred to the telephone.

“Well, who is it, and what is it?” asked Fred crossly.

“Hiram Driggs,” responded the boat builder dryly.  “That’s ’who is it.’  As to ‘what is it,’ if you’ll take a quick run over to my office at the boatyard I’ll tell you the rest of it.”

“What on earth can you want to see me about?” Fred demanded.