"And where were you going when we stopped you?"

"For help."

"Whose help?" Dick inquired.

"I don't know," replied the old man blankly. "Perhaps to a lawyer."

"Lawyers don't recover stolen property," rejoined Reade.

"Perhaps not," assented the peddler. "The people whom you should
see are the local officers," Dick assured the old man. "Probably
they couldn't recover your money, though, since you have no idea
who robbed you."

Reuben Hinman groaned helplessly. It was plain to the two high
school boys that the peddler had started out, thus, in the middle
of the night simply because his misery was too great to permit
of inaction on his part.

"I wish we could help you," Prescott went on earnestly.

"Why can't you?" eagerly demanded the peddler, as one who clutches
at the frailest straw.

"Call Dave, Tom. Try not to wake the others," murmured Dick.
Then, while Reade was gone, Prescott asked:

"Mr. Hinman, why on earth didn't you keep your money in a bank,
and then pay by check?"