Part 26 (1/2)

Briefly and plainly the message read: _Do not_ _give the bracelet to Miguel. He is a thief._

Agnes sat down and stared almost breathlessly at the paper. That it was a threatening command from one crowd of Gypsies or the other, she was sure. But whether it was from Big Jim's crowd or from Costello, the junkman, she did not know.

Her first thought, after she had digested the matter for a few moments, was to run with the paper to Mrs. McCall. But Mrs. McCall was not at all sympathetic about this bracelet matter. She was only angry with the Gypsies, and, perhaps, a little angry with Agnes for having unwittingly added to the trouble by putting the advertis.e.m.e.nt in the paper.

Neale, after all, could be her only confident; and, making sure that no other dark-visaged person was in sight about the house, the girl ran down the long yard beyond the garden to the stable and Billy b.u.mps' quarters, and there climbed the board fence that separated the Kenway yard from that of Con Murphy, the cobbler.

”Hoo, hoo! Hoo, hoo!” Agnes called, looking over the top rail of the fence.

”Hoo, hoo, yerself!” croaked a voice. ”I'd have yez know we kape no owls on these premises.”

The bent figure of Mr. Murphy, always busy at his bench, was visible through the back window of his shop.

”Is it that young yahoo called Neale O'Neil that yez want, Miss Aggie?” added the smiling cobbler. ”If so--”

But Neale O'Neil appeared just then to answer to the summons of his girl friend. He had been to the store, and he tumbled all his packages on Con's bench to run out into the yard to greet Agnes.

”What's happened now?” he cried, seeing in the girl's face that something out of the ordinary troubled her.

”Oh, Neale! what do you think?” she gasped. ”There's been another of them at the house.”

”Not one of those Gypsies?”

”I believe she was.”

”Oh! A _she_!” said the boy, much relieved. ”Well, she didn't bite you, of course?”

”Come here and look at this,” commanded his friend.

Neale went to the fence, climbed up and took the paper that Agnes had found stuck to the plate on which she had placed the food for the Gypsy girl. When he had read the abrupt and unsigned message, Neale began to grow excited, too.

”Where did you get this?”

Agnes told him about it. Of course, the hungry girl had been a messenger from one party of Gypsies or the other. Which? was Agnes'

eager question.

”Guess I can answer that,” Neale said gravely. ”It does look as though things were getting complicated. I bet this girl you fed is one of Big Jim's bunch.”

”How can you be so positive?”

”There are probably only two parties of Gypsies fighting over the possession of that old bracelet. Now, I learned down there in that junk neighborhood that Costello--the Costello who is bothering us--is called Miguel. They are all Costellos--Big Jim's crowd and all. June Wildwood says so. They distinguish our junkman from themselves by calling him by his first name. Therefore--”

”Oh, of course I see,” sighed Agnes. ”It is a terrible mess, Neale! I do wish Mr. Howbridge would get back. Or that the police would find that junkman and shut him up. Or--or that Ruthie would come home!”

”Oh, don't be a baby, Aggie!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Neale.

”Who is the baby, I want to know?” flashed back the girl. ”I'm not!”

”Then pluck up your spirits and don't turn on the sprinkler,” said the slangy youth. ”Why, this is nothing to cry about. When it is all over we shall be looking back at the mystery as something great in our young lives.”