“Maybe—maybe not,” said my father.
“That don’t seem much of answer. Perhaps, now, it came from the same place those others did.”
“That’s nothing to you, Dr. Crackenthorpe.”
“Well, you say it’s lost, anyhow. Supposing I found it, would you agree to my keeping it? Treasure-trove, you know”—and he looked up with a grin, balancing the poker perpendicularly in his hand. “Treasure-trove, my friend,” he repeated, with emphasis, and gave the other a keen look.
Something in the tone of his speech woke light in my brain, and I remembered at a flash. I stole an anxious glance at my father. His face was pale and set with anger, but there was an expression in his eyes that looked like fear.
“You don’t mean to tell me you have found it?” he said in a forced voice.
“Oh, by no means,” answered the doctor. “We haven’t all your good luck. Only you are so full of the unexpected in producing valuables from secret places, like a conjurer, that I thought perhaps you wouldn’t mind my keeping this particular one if I should chance to pick it up.”
“Keep it, certainly, if you can find it,” said my father, I could have thought almost with a faint groan.
“Thanks for the permission, my friend; I’ll make a point of keeping my eyes open.”
When did he not? They were pretty observant now on Zyp and Jason, who, as he spoke, walked into the room.