“No,” I answered; “but you have.”
He stared at me again for an instant.
“I don’t know what you mean,” he said slowly, at last.
“Oh, yes, you do. We saw you in the orchard last night; and I found the hole in the tree this morning. You didn’t put the cement lid back into place.”
“Didn’t I? That was careless of me. But now I remember. I heard you coming, and tried to get out of the way.”
“How did you get out of the way?” I asked. “You just seemed to—to vanish.”
He laid one finger against the side of his nose and smiled a little. I noticed that the finger was stained a curious light green, as though with ink or acid.
“That’s one of my secrets,” he answered. “I never go into a place until I’m sure of getting away from it, if I want to.”
I paid little heed to the words at the time, but I had occasion to remember them afterwards.
“So you admit it was you and that you got the treasure?” I cried.