And in a few brief words he told how he happened to be at the bridge and what he had seen. The constable listened with deep interest, but Isaac Marvelling pooh-poohed the whole story.

"He's a good one at telling 'em," said the store-keeper. "I don't place no credit in what he says."

"Well, it won't do any harm to investigate," replied Jackson. "You hold him, while I light my lantern and take a look under the bridge."

"He may try to get away from me," said Marvelling, as he surveyed Matt's tall and well-built form with some trepidation. "He would most likely do anything to keep out of jail."

"I have more at stake than you have," cried the young auctioneer.

"Indeed?"

"Yes, sir. I consider my reputation worth considerably more than a paltry forty-five dollars."

"Do you? Well, to me the reputation of a traveling and swindling auctioneer isn't worth much!" grumbled Isaac Marvelling.

"You may regret those words," was Matt's brief reply; and for the time being he said no more.

In the meanwhile Jackson had struck a match and lit the somewhat smoky lantern he carried.

Seeing to it that Matt was safe in Marvelling's custody, the constable sprang down from the bridge to the rocks below. A second later he disappeared under the bridge.

The two above heard him rummaging around in the loose stones and among the brush for all of five minutes. Both listened for some call from him, the store-keeper all the while keeping a tight hold on Matt's arm.

"Well, have you found anything?" cried the store-keeper at last, unable longer to stand the suspense.

"I have," returned Jackson, and a second later he appeared again, holding in his hand a carving-knife and two spoons.

"Found these under the bridge," he explained, as he clambered up upon the structure again. "They are your goods, I take it."

"Of course they are my goods!" cried Isaac Marvelling, as he glanced at the articles. "Is that all?" he went on disappointedly.

"That's all I could find. There may be more there or in the water."

"This young rascal threw them there!" cried the store-keeper, shaking Matt's arm savagely. "You imp! tell me where the other things are at once, or I'll skin you alive!"

"Look here, Mr. Marvelling; I want you to let go of me and be reasonable," returned Matt, as calmly as he could. "I am not a thief.

If I was, would I tell the story I did, or send down your companion to find those things? My story about that object under the bridge is true, and, to my way of thinking, it was the thief you saw jump the fence and run in this direction. When I sprang down to bathe my face and hands he got scared and ran out on the other side of the bridge, and in his hurry he must have dropped the things which have been found."

"Stuff and nonsense!"

"His story may be true," put in Jackson mildly.

"My advice is to follow up the brook and see if you cannot track the thief," went on the young auctioneer. "And do not lose any time in doing it."

"And what will become of you?" sneered the store-keeper.

"I will go with you, if you wish."

"That's a good idea," said the constable. "Come, let us start without delay. If we can't find anybody we can take the boy to the lock-up, anyway."

Isaac Marvelling grumbled, but at last consented, and soon all three were down under the bridge. Here it was pitch-dark, and the feeble rays of the lantern only lit up a circle that was less than three yards in diameter.

In hopes of clearing himself, more than for the purpose of aiding Isaac Marvelling in the recovery of the goods, Matt set to work with a will.

"Here is another spoon," he said presently, and he handed over a silver-plated affair, which at the most was not worth fifteen cents, wholesale.

"Here are a couple of knives," added Jackson. "And here is a bit of paper some of the stuff must have been wrapped in."

"Look here!" suddenly cried Matt, as he pointed down into the water.

"Here's a man's cap, and it looks as if it had just fallen in, for one side of the peak is not yet wet."

"Let me see that cap," returned the constable quickly.

He s.n.a.t.c.hed it from Matt's hand and turned with it to the lantern. His examination lasted but a few seconds.

"Say, Marvelling, have you seen anything of old Joe Yedley lately?" he asked, turning to the store-keeper.

"Yedley? Why, yes; he was in the store begging, only yesterday," was the reply. "But what has he----"

"Did you give him anything?"

"Give him anything?" cried Marvelling wrathfully. "Not a cent! I told him to clear out; that I didn't want him to ever come in again. I have no use for beggars."

"Did he go near the case with the cutlery and jewelry in it?"

"Humph! I suppose he did. But what has he to do with this?"

"This is Joe Yedley's cap; I would know it out of a thousand. He is an old offender, and it is more than likely that he is the thief!"

CHAPTER XXII.

THE SHANTY IN THE WOODS.

The reader may rest a.s.sured that Matt listened with deep interest to the words of the constable. He knew nothing of the man that had been mentioned as the probable thief, but he was willing to believe Jackson's supposition true.

"That Joe Yedley's cap?" returned Isaac Marvelling slowly.

"Certainly. You ought to know it well enough. He has worn nothing else for years."

"Humph! how did it get here?"

"The man must have dropped it in his haste to get away when I came here," said Matt. "He left in a big hurry."

"That's most likely it," said the constable. "To tell the truth, it looks just like a piece of Yedley's work," he added slowly. "He did it in order to get square, as much as anything, I reckon. He always resented being called a beggar."