As the night wore on Mr.Macey began to have a pessimistic notion that perhaps some one had found the scarf but had been too "thrifty" to turn in such a precious article for so small a reward.
"I guess it may as well be given up," sighed Mr.Macey, after two in the morning.

"I'm going home, anyway." The readers of "The Blade" that crisp October morning knew of Mrs.Macey's loss.
There was much talk about the matter around the town.

People who walked downtown early that morning peered into gutters and down through sidewalk gratings.

Then, at about seven o'clock a sensation started, and swiftly grew.
One man, glancing skyward, had his attention attracted to something fluttering at the top of the spire of the Methodist church, more than half a block away from the opera house.

It was fabric of some sort, and one end fluttered in the breeze, though most of the black material appeared to be wrapped around the tip of the weather vane in which the spire staff terminated.
"That's the jeweled scarf, I'll bet a month's pay!" gasped the discoverer.