The morning of the third of August, Aspeland, imbued with more than his usual amount of energy, came rushing into Tom Murner's apartments. "Have you heard what has happened to Maurice Wallion?" he cried, whilst still on the threshold. "My goodness, he does manage to be on the spot when wanted." Aspeland then related what had taken place in Captain Street on the previous evening, adding "The man is an out and out scoundrel, bold and determined, it remains for us to see that he does not escape our net this time." Breathing hard the superintendent twirled his mustache. "The wretch may be back in Stockholm by now." "No, he'll try to get here, no doubt, but today, every train from the north is being watched, and presently I shall be going myself to Gavle. I'm almost sure he has got out of the country; we have no criminal of that type here just now, for he's an expert, he is. Naturally, he would try to get back with his booty on the first available opportunity. Wooden doll, indeed!" The superintendent shook his head. "One man killed and another badly wounded, and all for the sake of getting at a couple of small wooden images. It's more than one can understand." Aspeland gone, the house once more became as silent as the grave. Tom Murner, thus doomed to solitude and idleness, was unable either to read or work. The strange drama in which he was one of the actors nearly drove him mad. Who was this girl who had claimed his hospitality in such an unaccountable manner? How was the affair going to end? Early in the afternoon a telegram arrived from Wallion, but it gave him small comfort. "Can't return before to-morrow. Make inquiries after a certain person's luggage. If necessary provide other clothes. Prepare...