“No—something just occurred to me. What if that wretched little dragon of ours was guarding just such a fortune? It might be jewels or bank-notes or—or something equally valuable! I’m going to get it right away and make another try at opening it. It makes me furious, every time I think of it, to be so—so balked about getting at anything!”
“But, Phyllis,” objected Leslie, “even if there were any such thing, I don’t believe we’d have a right to keep it. It must belong to somebody, and we ought to make an effort to find out who. Don’t you think so?”
“Oh, yes, if it’s any real person—I suppose so,” admitted Phyllis. “But what if—” She stopped significantly.
“Now don’t tell me it was hidden there by ghosts!” And Leslie’s infectious laugh pealed out.
“Oh, hush! or Ted will hear. He can’t be far away,” implored Phyllis, guiltily. “Of course, I don’t say what or whom it was hidden by, but there’s something mighty queer to me about an empty bungalow being inhabited by living folks—”
“What about burglars?” interrupted Leslie, quickly.
“Never was such a thing around these parts, in any one’s experience!” Phyllis hastened to assure her, much to her secret relief.
“Then perhaps it’s the people who own the cottage,” offered Leslie.
“No chance. They’ve all gone off to spend the winter in California—every one. Ted had a letter from Leroy Danforth, who is a great chum of his, last week.”
“Well, I know there is some other explanation besides a—a ghostly one!” declared Leslie, nothing daunted. “But anyway, we might have another look at the dragon.”