Mr. Condit was a rather severe man. He looked very angry, and kept calling the boy hard names as he told how Hen must have known the combination of the safe; and doubtless doubled at least the amount taken in hard cash, as it is human nature to make even troubles seem many times as large as they are.
Elmer and the others managed to see the convicting note. They were all of the same opinion as Landy; and agreed that no one but Hen could ever have written those fateful words.
"I never would have believed he could ever be such a silly gump!" was what Lil Artha remarked, after surveying the crooked writing, which, of course, he knew only too well.
After they had hung around for some time, and Elmer had asked all the questions he could think of, the boys went outside to talk it over.
"Right now some of those people are looking at us in a sneering way, suh," observed the touchy Southern boy, indignantly; "and I give you my word fo' it they're beginning to say among themselves that Hen Condit belonged to the wonderful Wolf Patrol. Elmer, we've suttinly got to do something to clear the good name of our patrol."
"We will," replied the other, simply, and yet with that earnestness which carries conviction in its train. "Already I've got a suspicion. There may be nothing to it but it's given me an idea where we ought to look first of all."
"Please tell us about it, Elmer?" begged Toby.
"I just knew Elmer would get on the track in double-quick time," asserted Landy, who always believed there was nothing impossible to the patrol leader, once he set himself to a task.
"It all came about from hearing a boy talking when I was down in the market yesterday morning. You know who he is, Johnny Spreen, the fellow who always ships out a raft of dried ginseng roots every year, and in the Spring sends a bunch of muskrat skins to the city."
"Sure we know Johnny," assented Toby, quickly; "he comes to town with a load of hay once every two weeks. His folks live a long ways off, up beyond the two lakes where we used to go camping."