“You mean—which he left to Stoker?”
“Why, yes. Mr. Conway was an inventor. He must have patented things.”
“Very probably. But Stoker told us that his father’s entire estate amounted to the place he’s living in and a few thousand dollars. If Mr. Conway still owned patent rights on his inventions, why weren’t they mentioned in the will?”
“You think, then, that he sold them before his death?”
“Looks that way,” summed up Bill. “Anyway, if there were patents, they’d be registered in Washington. It wouldn’t do anyone any good to steal them.”
Dorothy tramped along beside him. Except for the sound of their footsteps squishing in the muddy path and the drip of the rain from wet leaves and branches, the woods were very still.
“What can those people be after if it isn’t the patents on Mr. Conway’s inventions?” she said in a puzzled tone, after a pause.
“Search me—what ever it is, the thing must be very valuable. They’d never take all this trouble otherwise.”
“Give us all this trouble, you mean. And here’s another riddle, Bill. Why was Hilltop sold?”
Bill threw her a glance and shrugged.