“Well, I guess the boys know what I mean,” said Dave, after a short laugh. “I want you to keep this to yourselves. Don’t spread it any further. It may be that I am mistaken, and if so, and Merwell and Jasniff heard of what I have said, they would come down on me like a ton of bricks—and I’d not blame them.”
In the afternoon, urged by Mrs. Wadsworth, the boys went skating, taking the girls with them. On the ice they met Nat Poole, but the money-lender’s son did not speak to them, indeed he did his best to keep out of their way.
“He hasn’t forgotten New Year’s Eve,” said Ben. “He had better keep his distance, unless he wants to get into more trouble.”
“Wonder what he thinks of the robbery?” mused Dave.
“We might get Buster to pump him,” suggested Phil. “He is on pretty good terms with Nat,—that is, they are not open enemies.”
Buster was appealed to and he readily agreed to do the “pumping,” provided the money-lender’s son had anything to say. He skated off by himself and then threw himself in Nat’s way, and was gone the best part of half an hour.
“Well, did you learn anything?” queried Roger, when the stout youth returned.
“I guess I did!” cried Buster. “Say, I think Nat Poole is about as mean as they make ’em!” he burst out. “And he hasn’t a grain of good, hard common-sense!”
“What did he say?” demanded Phil.
“Oh, he said a lot of things, about the robbery, and about the Wadsworths and the Porters. First he said he didn’t believe the jewels were nearly as valuable as Mr. Wadsworth represented them to be, and the manufacturer was kicking up a big fuss just as a sort of advertisement. Then he said there was a report that Dave had been seen in front of the works just a few minutes before the explosion, and that that looked mighty suspicious to him.”