“I should say not,” laughed Jack; “why, we’ve been at swords points now for a year and more, and never even speak as we pass each other.”

“Oh! well, of course then it would be silly to think of suspecting him,” remarked Paul as he sat down again.

But nevertheless, many times his eyes seemed to turn toward that partly opened window, and then in the direction of the low desk where the box of coins stood.

“Scissors” Dempsey had come by his nickname because of a peculiar trick he had of keeping his knees stiff when walking.  Long ago one boy had likened his long legs to a pair of scissors, and quick to take up a humorous name like this, his mates had called him nothing else in years.

“Well, it’s a mighty funny thing where that bunch of old copper coins has gone to!” remarked Jack, presently, unable, it seemed, to think of anything else just then.

“I believe this den of yours is hardly ever locked,” remarked Paul, presently, “and all persons can come up here whenever they choose.  I’ve even often found your dog Carlo sleeping here.  Why, if any friend calls to see you, and wants to wait till you come home, he just meanders up here as he pleases, and amuses himself looking over your books and magazines.  Isn’t that so, Jack?”

“Sure.  My mother says this is Liberty Hall, judging from the way all my chums go and come.  But what’s got you now?  Do you think some other chap may have fallen into the nasty habit of helping himself to my coins, either to swell out his own collection, or to sell them to Doc.  Thomes?”

“Oh! hardly that, although it seems possible.  But don’t worry too much about it, Jack.  I’m sure we’ll discover the truth sooner or later.”

“Anyhow I’ll have eight to hide away; part of a loaf is better than no bread,” remarked the other, dejectedly.

“Oh!  I wouldn’t put them away, not just yet, anyhow, Jack.”

“But, my goodness, perhaps I’ll lose all of my coins if I leave them around like this any longer on my desk!”

“That’s so, but don’t you see if you hide them, it shuts us off from ever learning who is taking them.”

“Oh!  I see.  You mean to catch him at it some time; is that the idea, Paul?”

“Nothing less.  I’ll drop in at the old dealer in curios to-morrow, and find out if he has any that are on this list.  Listen, there’s somebody at the door!”

“It’s only Carlo, scratching to get in.  Open the door, please, Paul.”

As the other did so a large Newfoundland dog stalked solemnly in, paid little heed to either of the occupants of the den, but snuggled down in a corner, where there was an old cushion, evidently placed there for his especial use.

“My! he’s getting fatter than ever,” remarked Paul, surveying the bulging sides of the shaggy canine, as he curled himself up as if to sleep.

“I believe he is, the scamp.  I see it when I put him through his paces with all the tricks I taught him.  He’s getting too logy, and has to be told three times before he’ll do a blessed thing.  But about this wretched matter, Paul—­you won’t say anything to your folks, will you?”