“How many years ago did this happen?” Frank asked.
“Oh, it must be nigh on fifteen or twenty years ago. Guess that explains why you lads never heard of the Bender stamp case, because there was a lot about it in the newspapers at the time. It was a mighty famous case, I can tell you. It seemed to break Elroy Jefferson all up, because that collection was the pride of his heart, and when it disappeared so strangely, he just didn’t seem to take any more interest in anything. What I’ve always said was that if the police could only find this man John Sparewell, they’d find what happened to the stamps.”
“That seems reasonable.”
“Yep. That’s the way I figgered it out. The only trouble was, they never were able to find Sparewell.”
“I wonder why he stole the stamps if he never sold them,” said Joe.
“I guess he was up against it when he tried to sell ’em. He knew that nobody but stamp collectors would buy the collection, and any stamp collector would recognize the Bender collection right away and tell the police. So perhaps he’s never been able to sell them and is waitin’ until Elroy Jefferson dies before he tries to make any money out of it.”
Frank and Joe got up.
“Perhaps that’s what happened,” Frank agreed. “Well, Mr. Grice, we’ve been very much interested in the story, but we must be getting back to the cabin or our chums will think something has happened to us.”
The boys paid for their supplies and then left the store, after saying good-bye to the garrulous old man.
“Come again!” he called after them. “Drop in and have a chat any time you want.”