"It's only fair to tell us," pleaded the tall scout.
"Well, all right, seeing that I'm more than ever convinced I'm on the right track. Here, smell that, both of you and tell me what it reminds you of."
He thrust the queer, sharp-pointed knife that had been taken from the woman into the hand of Lil Artha.
That individual immediately raised it to his nose, took one good smell, and made a wry face.
"Ugh! rank fishy odor, all right!" he declared.
"Then look back a bit, Lil Artha," Elmer continued. "Don't you remember that in the mill and cottage we discovered a strong fishy smell when we tried to investigate that underground place?"
"You're right, we did," assented the tall scout; "it made me feel a bit squeamish, too, for if there's one thing I can't stomach it's rank fish. Ugh!"
"I see what you're leading up to, Elmer," announced Mark, briskly, "and I must say it looks as if there might be a whole lot of truth in it, too."
"These Italians are often fishermen. A cousin of mine once told me that along the Gulf coast and around New Orleans the whole fishing industry lies in their hands," Elmer went on.
"Then you believe this bunch is getting fish out of Munsey mill pond, and selling them, perhaps over in Scarsdale?" said Mark.