“I’ve—I’ve made a new start,” stammered Fogg. “I’ve buried the past.”
“Good!” cried Ralph, giving his companion a hearty slap on the shoulder, “that’s just what I was going to say to you. Bury the past—yes, deep, fathoms deep, without another word, never to be resurrected. To prove it, let’s first bury this. Kick it under that ash heap yonder, Mr. Fogg, and forget all about it. Here’s something that belongs to you. Put it out of sight, and never speak of it or think of it again.”
And Ralph handed to the fireman the package done up in the oiling cloth that he had unearthed from Fogg’s bunker in the cab of No. 999.
CHAPTER X
FIRE!
Lemuel Fogg gave a violent start as he received the parcel from Ralph’s hand. His face fell and the color deserted it. The package unrolled in his grasp, and he let it drop to the ground. Two square sheets of green colored mica rolled out from the bundle.
“Fairbanks!” spoke the fireman hoarsely, his lips quivering—“you know?”
“I surmise a great deal,” replied Ralph promptly, “and I want to say nothing more about it.”