“Well, I am not bringing trouble.  I only came to enquire if there is a boy here named Fritz.”

“Yes, Fritz is here.  He is my brother’s son, and is visiting me.”

The boys had heard all and made a rush for the door, where they stood behind Mrs. Steiner, gazing with intense interest at the tall, dark man who had such piercing black eyes and a moustache so large that Fritz told his aunt afterward that it looked as if a blackbird had lighted upon his upper lip and spread its wings under his nose.

“Now, which one of these boys is Fritz?” he asked.

“This one,” said the aunt, turning to the boy, who was doing his best to hide Pixy from the eyes of the law.  But Pixy was not willing to be obscured.  He did not like the looks of the man, and gave one of his low growls.

“Call your dog away, boy, I have no business with him, although he has no tag.  However that is no harm, so long as he stays in the house.  Now, Fritz, what is your other name?”

“Fritz Heil.  My father is a clothing merchant, and his store—­”

“I do not have need to know of him.  Did you lose a pocketbook yesterday?”

“No, it was stolen from me.”

“Well, I came to take you to the police commissioner.”

“Aunt, has the policeman arrested me?” asked the boy, clinging to his aunt’s arm.

“You are not under arrest, boy,” laughed the man.  “You are only wanted as witness.  We hope to catch the thief.  Now forward, march.”

“Yes, Fritz, go and do what you can to help.  Do you think you can find your way back?”

“I will see that he gets back all right, madam,” and down the steps they went, Franz and Paul looking after them until they disappeared from view.

Fritz was received so kindly by the police commissioner that he felt entirely at ease.

“So you were robbed, my little man.  How did the churl look who picked your pocket?”

“Oh, he was no churl, but a pleasant gentleman with a soft voice.”

“Yes, we know this pleasant gentleman.  How was he dressed the day you saw him?”

“He wore a tall silk hat, a black broadcloth coat and vest, and although it was a warm day, he had on a fine thin overcoat.”

“Entirely right.  You describe him well as to clothing.  Now about his face and form?”

“He was tall and slender, had a smooth face, black hair and black eyes that looked quickly about him like a squirrel, and he had a scar over his left eye.”

“Exactly!  Now tell me about your pocketbook.”

“My mother gave it to me at Christmas, and—­”

“There is no need to tell me that, my son.”

“Yes, there is need, because in it is a tiny card on which is written ‘To my loved Fritz, from his mother; Christmas.’”

“Oh, it is well to know this.  Describe the pocketbook.”

“It is of red leather, and has a bright clasp, and upon it I scratched ‘Fritz’ with my pocket knife.”