“Good enough,” said Garry. “We can use the same tree, since it is already marked so we can readily recognize it.”
This was done and the trio proceeded townwards. Arriving at the postoffice they found Denton sitting on the wide porch that stretched for the full length of the store, gossiping with several old men of the village.
He hailed the boys as he saw them approach, and when they climbed up onto the porch invited them to come inside.
He led the way back to his little cubbyhole office, and when they were seated, asked what luck they had had.
Garry replied that little had been done and little could be until they had asked him some questions.
“First thing,” said the leader of the Rangers, “has Simmons, the inspector, been here yet?”
“Yes, drat him, only left a little while ago,” was the sour reply.
“Why, what’s the matter?” asked Garry in surprise, at the tone of Denton’s voice.
“Seems to think I know all about this matter, and says he thinks half the trouble is right here. Asked a lot of fool questions about the letters sent to the Everetts and darn few about the stolen mail. Seemed to be most interested in the contents of the safe. Made me check over all the stamps and the cash of the postoffice, and wanted to know how much money was generally kept there, and if it was cared for safely, and all that sort of stuff. Seems kind of funny he’d be worried more about a couple or three hundred dollars of postoffice money than about Ferguson’s missing checks, which now total up nearly three thousand dollars. I think he has an idea I’ve stolen the dratted checks myself.”
The boys did not pay too serious attention to Denton’s tirade against the inspector, for they thought that his brusque manner, a little of which had been displayed to them, had riled the postmaster.