"They come by mail late this afternoon," the sheriff replied. "I thought I told you about it."
"Hum,— Same handwriting as the letters," observed the lawyer as he ran through the littered pages. "Our 'Two Friends' wanted to be sure that their hoax was going to work—"
He stopped abruptly and sniffed at the crumpled pages with an expression of mistrust—of something reminiscent. And suddenly, with an unintelligible exclamation, he caught up his hat and started for the door.
"Wait a minute, Judge," invited the sheriff affably. "I'll send you folks home in an auto."
"Can't wait!" called Mr. Cane over his shoulder. "An automobile couldn't get me there fast enough!"
Mr. Cane lost no time in getting home. But Sube was there ahead of him, and already in bed and apparently asleep.
CHAPTER III
THE LAST SAD RITES
When Sube accompanied his family to church on the morrow he was conspicuous by reason of his scentlessness. Nobody sniffed at him; nobody moved away from him; his brothers walked uncomplainingly at his side. Any one but Sube might have thought that the storm which descended on him the previous night shortly after he had slipped into bed with his clothes on, must have clarified the atmosphere completely. For Mr. Cane had done very thoroughly that which is claimed to hurt the parent more than the child.