“We’ll find him!” declared Bob. “We’ll make him give up the secret of the pocket.”
“Maybe he’s dead by this time,” said Sinclair. “Was he an old man, Grandy?”
“I don’t know, my dear. I never saw him. He worked here when I was away in London. I fear, however, he is not alive now.”
“Oh, perhaps he is. It was only about thirty-five years ago, or forty, that he built this ‘secret pocket.’ Thirty-eight, to be exact. The date on the bill proves that.”
“Well, to-morrow you must go to see him,” said Mrs. Hartley, rising. “But now, my children, you must go to bed. You can’t learn any more to-night, and to-morrow we will pick up the broken thread. Patty, my dear child, you are doing a great deal for us.”
“It isn’t anything yet,” said Patty, “but oh, if it only leads to something, I shall be so glad!”