“Oh, you don’t need to be specific. Say you don’t like to do business this way, that you prefer to meet the writer. Then we’ll leave the letter in the tree, hide, and nab him when he comes for it.”
“Good!” cried Ned. “That’s the stuff. Regular detective business, fellows. Come on, Fenn, write the letter.”
“I think that would be a good plan,” commented Frank, who, being more sober-minded than his chums usually were, often said the final word when some scheme was afoot. “If the writer wants to resort to such tactics as leaving an anonymous letter on the doorstep, we can retaliate by playing the spy on him. Get busy, Fenn.”
“When shall we leave it in the tree?” asked the stout lad.
“To-morrow,” answered Bart promptly. “We haven’t any too much time before going to camp. We’ll try to catch him to-morrow, and maybe we can solve the mystery of the diamond bracelet.”
It took some time to compose a letter to the satisfaction of all four lads, as each one had some suggestion to make, but it was finally done, and enclosed in a strong, manilla envelope, ready to be left in the dead sycamore tree. Then the chums planned to go to Oak Swamp the next afternoon, early.
The appointed time found them at the place, and, as they came in sight of the tree, they adopted precautionary tactics previously agreed upon.
“For,” Bart explained, “we want to catch that man, and we’ve got to go about it right. He’s given us the slip a number of times. Now, naturally, he’ll expect us to-day, and he’ll be in hiding somewhere near the tree. Look around carefully, and see if we can’t spot him before we deposit the letter.”
Accordingly, the lads made a cautious approach, but there was no sign of a man, or any one else near the big tree. The approach to the swamp appeared deserted, and on that afternoon, with a dull, leaden sky overhead, and a mournful wind sighing through the trees, Oak Swamp was anything but a cheerful place.
“It’s going to snow,” observed Ned, as they walked slowly on toward the tree.