“There’s the story in a nutshell. If you can make anything out of it, you’re a better man than I am, any one of you.”
Denton concluded his story and leaned back in his chair surveying the boys.
Garry was silent for a few moments, and then he made answer:
“I am afraid there is nothing that we can do. When the inspector comes we can do anything that he asks and guide him around through the country and that is about all. We are just Rangers and not postoffice detectives.”
“Well, there’s nothing I can do except sit tight and see that it doesn’t disappear while it’s in this office. I wouldn’t have that happen for the world. I’ve been postmaster here for nigh onto twenty year, and never was so much as a postage stamp short in all that time,” said Denton with an air of pride.
As they talked, Phil had been listening intently. He possessed an almost abnormal hearing, and had frequently heard things that warned of the approach of danger when his two chums could not hear a sound.
“Keep on talking, Garry,” he whispered to his chum, who happened to be sitting nearest him. “Talk loudly.”
Then stepping cautiously, so as to make no sound, he approached the window, which was up on account of the heat of the night, and with a quick snap of his hand, caused the roller shade to fly to the top.
All present got a glimpse of the face of a man standing there at the window, listening to the conversation. The chums made a dash for the window and were fumbling at the screen when the man fled.
“By gosh, that’s Pete Avalon, one of the hangers on at the restaurant kept by the big Frenchman where you fellows have eaten, and where, if I remember rightly, one of you had an unpleasant experience a while ago.”