No one was in sight about the place, yet lying in plain view on the hand car were three or four coats and jumpers and as many dinner pails.
"I have no time to figure it out," breathed Bart quickly. "The first thing to do is to get the trunk down there."
Bart ran back to the wagon. He hurriedly pulled away the grass covering and then the canvas.
The trunk was revealed. He had his first full glance at it since it had been delivered to him at the express office at Pleasantville, the afternoon previous.
"It's all right," he said with satisfaction, after a critical inspection. "There is the paster I slapped over the front. The trunk could not have been opened without tearing that."
He got a good purchase on a handle and landed the trunk in the road. Then he dragged it up to the barrier, removed a board, and, perspiring and breathing hard, held it at the sheer edge of the decline and let it slide.
The hand car was a light-running affair, well-greased, in pretty good order, and he could readily observe was in constant use.
Upon it lay the clothing and dinner pails he had noticed from overhead. They evidently belonged to workmen—but where were they?
"I can hardly wait to find out," declared Bart.
He pushed off the clothing and dinner pails and lifted on the trunk.