“Of course, they tried other ‘bedheads’?”
“Yes, tell her about it, Grandy.”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Cromarty, placidly. “All the bedrooms in the house, even the servants’ rooms, were subjected to most careful scrutiny. Although so many years had elapsed, I could remember where the various beds stood when Marmaduke was with us. Behind each, we had the walls sounded, and in some cases, broken into. We even looked for pockets or receptacles of some sort on the backs of the headboards themselves, but never a trace of anything could we find.”
“It’s very exciting!” said Patty; “how can you all be so calm about it? I should think you’d be searching every minute!”
“You must remember, dear,” said Mrs. Hartley, “it’s an old story to us. At first, we were indeed excited. For several years we searched almost continuously. Then hope began to fail, and our investigations became intermittent. Every now and then we would make a fresh attempt, but invariably repeated failures dampened our enthusiasm.”
“It’s so interesting,” sighed Patty. “Can’t we get up a little of the old enthusiasm, and do some searching while I’m here?”
“Indeed, we can,” cried Bob. “Would you prefer an excavating party, with picks and spades, or an indoor performance in the old bedrooms?”
“Both,” declared Patty. “Of course I know how absurd it is to go over the ground that has already been worn threadbare, but—but, oh! if we could find it!”
Grandma Cromarty smiled.
“Forgive me, dearie,” she said, “but I’ve heard those sentiments from all my guests to whom we have told the story, for the past thirty-five years; and though I don’t want to seem ungrateful for your interest, I feel it my duty to warn you there is no hope.”