Free The Alley by Eleanor Estes Page B

dressing room. And she had said, "Pshaw! It doesn't fit yet. Two pounds is not enough..." and off they had gone, just last night, to the alumni ball—she without her ring on. But, anyway, at least she knew then where her diamond ring was supposed to be.
    So now, rushing past the two policemen, saying, "Oh, my ring, my diamond ring!" she tore into Papa's dressing room.
    "Diamond ring? Diamond ring? Where, where?" the two policemen said.
    Afterwards, Mama said she could feel their hot breath on the back of her neck as they raced after her to Papa's dressing room. They were almost shoving into her as she pulled open the drawer, the small one on the upper right, and of course—it had been rifled! Pencil case, pencil, diamond ring, gone! There were other things gone, too, but of these Mama knew nothing at the time. She knew only that her diamond engagement ring that had come down through the ages, from generation to generation, was most certainly gone.
    Mama turned and looked at the policemen. They looked at her. The silence was heavy and deep. "Well, lady," said one of the policemen finally (his name was Sergeant Rattray—they found out later), "We can't spend any more time here. ("As though I had been keeping him!" said Mama to Papa afterwards, in disgust.) We'll list what's missing and then be off. What exactly is missing, Missus?"
    Mama said she didn't know yet. She went into her room, and she saw that her bureau drawers had indeed been rifled, but in a neat and orderly way, not at all in the swift, reckless way that burglars usually turn things topsy-turvy. On the bed was a little package that she had wrapped in blue tissue paper, a present for somebody, and it had been unwrapped and was still on the bed in its loosened wrapping. Either the burglar did not want what it was—lavender soap—or had been interrupted or had no room in his pocket. Ah, but in Connie's room, her pretty little pink jewelry box had been roughly broken open, and although most of her little bracelets and pins were strewn all over the floor in true burglar fashion, her seven silver dollars that Aunt Lovey sent her—one practically every Christmas—were gone!
    Then everyone went downstairs, where Mama listed things as best she could. The tall policeman—Sergeant Rattray—put in a phone call for the detective; and then he said he thought they'd go. At this moment, up from the cellar came the two second policemen. The first two policemen were rather surprised to see the second two—they had not known they were there nor how long they had been there. Now, could the first two look the second two in the eye when Mama explained to them that her diamond ring was gone? And that she didn't see how that was possible? Mama didn't say it, but she gave the impression that she thought maybe the two first policemen might have her ring! Connie was ashamed of her mother—and hoped the policemen would not arrest Mama for thinking such a thing.
    The second two policemen looked at the floor. The two sets of policemen did not look each other in the eye. At this moment, Papa, summoned from the luncheon under the big green-and-white-striped tent, came in the front door; so the two fidgety first policemen had to wait until they had spoken to Papa, though they did say again briskly and with a hike to their shoulders that the detective would soon be here and they had to go. "No reason to stay," they said.
    Mama whispered something hurriedly in Papa's ear—Connie heard her; thank goodness she was allowed in her own house now and could see and hear everything. "You know, John," said Mama, "I think those two first policemen have my diamond ring in their pocket! I don't think the burglars got it. It's as though someone whispered in my ear, 'Those two policemen have your ring.' It's as though I could see through their pocket, see it there, see that they have my diamond ring in their pocket, in one of their pockets."
    "Sh-sh-sh," said Papa. "They'll hear you."
    The four