“Your father had just had another bad turn, and the nurse and I were doing what we could for him when the door-bell rang,” she began. “I went downstairs, and there stood somebody that I thought was Dave. I asked him into the house and he at once wanted to know how Mr. Basswood was getting along.”
“When was this?” questioned Ben.
“This was two days ago, and just about noon time.”
“Two days ago!” repeated Roger. “Then Porton must have come here right after leaving the hotel in Lamont. How ever did he get here?”
“Maybe he took that train that got through from Pepsico,” answered Phil. “You remember we heard that quite a few people made that train.”
“Let us hear about the miniatures,” broke in Ben, impatiently.
“Well, he came in, as I said, and asked about Mr. Basswood’s health. Then he told me that he was in a great hurry––that a certain famous art critic had called on Mr. Wadsworth, and, having 155 heard about the Enos miniatures, was very anxious to see them. He told me that the art critic had thought of coming over with him, but Mr. Wadsworth had said that it might disturb Mr. Basswood too much to have the miniatures examined in our house. The art critic did not want to become snowbound in Crumville, so he was only going to stay until the four o’clock afternoon train. The young man said Mr. Wadsworth wanted to know if we would allow him to take the miniatures over to the Wadsworth house, and that he would bring them back safely, either that evening or the next morning.”
“Oh, Mother! didn’t you suspect it might be a trick?” questioned Ben, anxiously. “You knew how this Ward Porton has been impersonating Dave.”
“Yes, yes, Ben, I know,” answered Mrs. Basswood, again wringing her hands. “And I should have been more careful. But you know I was very much upset on account of the bad turn your father had had. Then, too, the young man threw me off my guard by asking me if I had one of those cards which Dave had distributed among the storekeepers––the one with his autograph on it.
“I said ‘no,’ but told him I was very well acquainted with his handwriting. Then he said he would write out a card for me, adding, with a laugh, that he wanted me to be sure he was really 156 Dave. He drew a blank card out of his pocket and turned to a table to write on it and then handed it to me. Here is the card now;” and, going to the mantelpiece, the lady of the house produced it.