“Reckon so you would.”

“In a certain sense I hold Duncan Woodward and his followers responsible for what has occurred.”

“Phew!  What will Mr. Woodward say to that, I wonder?”

“I can’t help what he says.  I’m not going to bear all the blame when it isn’t my fault.”

“No, neither would I.”

At length we reached the outskirts of the town.  Judge Penfold lived at the top of what was termed the Hill, the aristocratic district of the place, and thither we made our way.

“Indeed, but the judge ain’t stirring yet!” exclaimed the Irish girl who came to answer our summons at the door.

“Then wake him at once,” said Parsons.  “Tell him there has been a most atrocious robbery and assault committed.”

“Mercy on us!” said the girl, lifting up her hands in horror.  “And who was it, Mr. Parsons?”

“Never mind who it was.  Go at once.”

“I will that!  Robbery and assault.  Mercy on us!”

And leaving us standing in the hall, the hired girl sped up the front stairway.

“The judge will be down as soon as he can,” she reported on her return.

We waited as patiently as we could.  While doing so I revolved what had occurred over in my mind, and came to the conclusion that the crime would be a difficult one to trace.  John Stumpy had probably made good use of his time, knowing that even if I had lost my life in the fire my sister would still recognize him as the thief.

Suddenly I thought of the written confession that must yet remain in my pocket, and I was on the point of assuring myself that it was still safe when a heavy foot-step sounded overhead, and Judge Penfold came down.

The judge was a tall, slender men of fifty, with hollow cheeks, a pointed nose, and a sharp chin.  His voice was of a peculiarly high and rasping tone, and his manner far from agreeable.

“What’s the trouble?” he demanded, and it was plain to see that he did not relish having his early morning sleep broken.

“Widow Canby’s house was robbed last night,” replied the constable; and he gave the particulars.

Judge Penfold was all ears at once.  Indeed, it may be as well to state that he was a widower and had paid Widow Canby much attention, which, however, I well knew that good lady heartily resented.  No doubt he thought if he could render her any assistance it would help along his suit.

“We must catch the fellow at once,” he said.  “Parsons, you must catch him without fail.”

“Easier said than done, judge,” replied the constable, doubtfully.  “Where am I to look for him?  The country around here is pretty large.”

“No matter.  You are constable, and it is your duty to seek him out.  I will sign the warrant for his arrest, and you must have him in jail by to-night, without fail.”

“I’ll do what I can, judge,” returns Parsons, meekly.

“Strong, I’ll have to bind you over as a witness.”