"What d'you find?" asked Atwell.

"She checks," said Scattergood.

The four drew a breath of relief. Scattergood wished that he might have
joined them in the breath, but there was no relief for him. He had
joined his fortunes to those of Ovid Nixon--and to those of Ovid's
mother; had become _particeps criminis_, and the requirements of the
situation rested heavily upon him.

It was past midnight before the laborious four finished their review of
the books and joined with Scattergood in giving Ovid a clean bill of
health.

"Didn't think Ovid had it in him to steal," said Kettleman.

"Hain't got no business stirrin' us up like this for nothin'," said
Atwell, acrimoniously.

"Maybe," suggested Scattergood, "Ovid's come down with a fit of
suthin'."

"Hope it's painful," said Lafe, "I'm a-goin' home to bed."

"What'll we do?" asked Deacon Pettybone.

"Nothin'," said Scattergood, "till some doin' is called fur. Calc'late I
better slip on my shoes. Might meet my wife." Mandy Scattergood was
doing her able best to break Scattergood of his shoeless ways.