"Do you mean," I demanded, almost aghast, "that you have deceived her with a false telegram; that that slip of paper you hold——"
"Read it," he cried, holding it out toward me.
I did read it. Alas, there was no deception in it. It read as he said.
"However—" I began.
But he had pocketed the telegram and was several steps away before I had finished my sentence.
"I am going to start these men up," said he. "You will breathe no word to Miss Lucetta of my sympathy nor let your own interests slack in the investigations which are going on under our noses."
And with a quick, sharp bow, he made his way to the gate, whither I followed him in time to see him set his foot upon a patch of sage.
"You will begin at this place," he cried, "and work east; and, gentlemen, something tells me that we shall be successful."
With almost a simultaneous sound a dozen spades and picks struck the ground. The digging up of Mother Jane's garden had begun in earnest.