“I’m mighty curious to know what game he is playing with Ray Bennett,” he said. “That is certainly the most intriguing feature of Frog strategy.”
He rose and took up his hat.
“I envy you your search of this fine old mansion,” he said, and, with a twinkle in his eye: “Don’t forget the kindergarten, Mr. Elk.”
When he had gone, Elk made a close scrutiny of the house. He found two children’s books, both well-thumbed, and an elementary copybook, in which a childish hand had followed, shakily, the excellent copperplate examples. The abacus was gone, however. In the cupboard where he had seen the unopened circulars, he made a discovery. It was a complete outfit, as far as he could judge, for a boy of six or seven. Every article was new—not one had been worn. Elk carried his find to where Dick was still puzzling over some of the more obscure notes which “No. 7” had left in his flight.
“What do you make of these?” he asked.
The Prosecutor turned over the articles one by one, then leant back in his chair and stared into vacancy.
“All new,” he said absently, and then a slow smile dawned on his face.
Elk, who saw nothing funny in the little bundle, wondered what was amusing him.
“I think these clothes supply a very valuable clue; does this?” He passed a paper across the table, and Elk read:
“All bulls hear on Wednesday 3.1.A. L.V.M.B. Important.”