“What’s wrong?” demanded Jim.
Without answering them the agent opened first one drawer in his desk and then another, searching around in them. At last he brought out a plain postal card and looked at it.
“Good grief,” he groaned. “That little man you’re talking about came in here and wrote out this postal card. He gave it to me to send for him, but I clean forgot it. I put it in the desk to send off the next day, and then I didn’t come into work the next day. Good grief!”
“Will you let me see it?” asked Don, trembling slightly and reaching under the screen. The agent passed it to him, seemed to hesitate and was about to draw it back, but Don, seeing his intention and reading the sudden thoughts which had surged into the old man’s head, drew it to him by the tips of his fingers. Eagerly he and Jim bent over it. It was dated October third and the brief message read as follows:
“Dear Merton;
Received a telegram to drop off at Spotville Point to see Morton Dennings. Perhaps I can come to some agreement with him. Going on to the school from here.
Elmer.”
Jim turned the card over. It was addressed to “Merton Morrell, 95 Orchard Street, Rockwood, N. Y.”
“The colonel’s brother,” said Don, and Jim nodded.
“That is an important clue,” said his brother.
“Yes,” returned Don. “Do you know of a man named Morton Dennings?” he asked the agent.
“Yes, I know him by sight. He’s a wealthy man who has a summer home here, out at the end of the town, on Blackberry Lane. But you won’t find him now, ’cause he’s gone back to New York City. The house is closed up.”