Frank continued his search, each moment growing paler.
“Yes, it’s gone!” he groaned. “Eighteen hundred dollars! What will the firm say?”
“When did you feel to see if it was safe last?” asked the young photographer.
“When I jumped up into the tree to get out of the way of the blood-hounds.”
“And you are sure you had it then?”
“Yes.”
“Then you must have dropped it while running here. Perhaps it jounced out of your pocket.”
“Maybe it did. My head hurt so before you tied it up I didn’t give the money a thought.”
“Well, the best thing to do is to go back for it,” said Bob, promptly. “The quicker the better.”
“What, go back to Raymond’s?” screamed Mrs. Larchmond. “He will kill you.”