“Just a little. There were six boxes, about three feet long, as I remember. Some one gave them to Warren, though who it was I do not know. I know they came along just as we were about to sail and I had to find a place for them in our baggage. Mr. Warren said they were rare examples of Chinese woodwork and seemed pleased to get them. But who gave them to him I have not the slightest idea.”
“There were six of them,” commented Ranville.
“Oh, yes,” came Patton's reply. “Six, all alike. Three of them were being brought by Mr. Warren to some one in Washington. But he never told me who it was.”
Carter, who had been listening carefully, gave a little laugh as he made his contribution to the subject.
“There is always some new plan being used to get opium into the country. The Revenue men tell me they have their troubles. But this was not so bad. Warren, of course, would bring in all of his goods without having to go through the customs. We do that always with big explorers. Those three boxes to the unknown man could have contained a good many thousands of dollars' worth of the drug. Only it seems there was a mistake, and they received one box which should have remained with Warren.”
“You are sure there is no way you can discover to whom Warren was to give those boxes, Patton?” was Bartley's question.
The young man shook his head.
“None that I know of now. Mr. Warren must have done it himself. They went down to Washington with him I know that. But what he did with them I have not the slightest idea.”
We must have talked for over an hour, for it was around ten when Patton gave a look at his watch and, rising hurriedly, said he had better be getting over to Warren's library. He added that he would spend the day in finding out just what had been done on the book, and asked the telephone address of the girl who had acted as the secretary. As he rose, Carter got up with him and said he would drive him over, first reminding him that we expected him at dinner around seven.
The two men had gone down the steps and were by the garage door when Bartley suddenly rose and, calling to Patton, went down on the lawn to his side. For a few moments the two men talked and I could tell from Bartley's manner that he was very serious. Then I saw Patton slowly nod his head, heard him say, “Yes,” and the next moment he climbed into the car, which Carter had run out of the garage. As they drove out of the yard, Bartley stood watching them and after they had turned into the road he came slowly up the steps. His face was grave and at the same time rather troubled. As I started to ask him what was the matter his expression changed. He turned to Ranville and myself and said: