The innkeeper was all for confronting the troupe and demanding the return of the stolen goods, but Frodo convinced him to do nothing before the investigation had been completed. Anxious as he was to avoid summoning the town constable and have these thefts in his inn made public, Butterbur agreed to let Frodo have his own way. While the innkeeper took the Wetleafs down to have breakfast in his private sitting room with the other guests, away from the troupe, Frodo went to find Mr. Grimmold.
"Well, Mr. Baggins, what have you found?" the little man asked eagerly once Frodo had drawn his attention and called him away from the troupe, who were breakfasting in the common room.
"Only this." Frodo opened his hand to show the scrap of cloth. "It was caught in the frame of one of the windows upstairs. I'd like to find out precisely which costume it came from."
Mr. Grimmold nodded grimly. "All our bags are in the waggon. Let's go look."
They went out into the courtyard together, and Mr. Grimmold took down the baggage that belonged to the Trufoots. Frodo looked through them for the colorful acrobatic costumes and, when he found them, examined each piece for tears. Other members of the troupe had followed them out to see what was going on and watched the proceedings with growing nervousness. Their initial indignation at the accusation was fading and they were beginning to be afraid that one or more among them was actually guilty. As Mr. Grimmold had said, being known as thieves would ruin the reputation of the whole troupe and damage their prospects of being welcome in Bree in the future.
At last, Frodo found a pair of baggy polka-dot pantaloons with a long, narrow strip torn off just above the knee-cuff. Even before he compared the scrap to the ripped place, he could see that they were a match.
He held up the torn pantaloons. "Who do these belong to?"
Campion Trufoot stepped forward. "They're mine," he said. "But honestly, Mr. Baggins, I never did anything dishonest in 'em! D'you think I'd try such a stunt as climbing up to get in at people's windows in my good clothes, and let 'em get torn that way?"
"You changed out of your show-clothes right after last night's performance," said Frodo. "Have you worn them since?"
Campion shook his head.
"We were to have another show at midday, but we won't now, not with this trouble hanging over us," Mr. Trufoot said glumly. "People aren't like to give money to thieves. They're more like to throw rocks at us. But it wasn't my lad, Mr. Baggins, nor any of us!"
Frodo found himself inclined to believe it. While everyone else had taken the scrap of cloth as an obvious clue to the thief's identity, finding it had started a whole new line of thought in his mind. "Could someone else have worn them?" he asked Campion.
"I don't know," the young hobbit answered. "I put my good clothes over the chair by my bed afore dinner. Somebody might've took 'em, only they'd have to've put 'em back before we went in to bed, since they was still there then. I don't know how they got torn."
"I do!," his sister Larkspur cried. "Cam didn't tear his trousers committing any burglaries, Mr. Baggins. No, he tore 'em at the end of yesterday's show. I saw it myself, clear as anything. You did it, Cam, when you climbed down the pole your rope was tied up on."
"You know that's not where I found the piece that was torn away, Miss Trufoot," Frodo told her.
"I know," she answered, "but it's true all the same."
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