But this tower—one of the old style built before the modern tanks came into use—was not freshly painted. It had been allowed to fall into a state of disrepair. Some of the rungs were missing from the ladder that led up the side, and the tower itself had a forlorn and weather-beaten aspect, as though it had been deserted. This, indeed, was the case. The new tower tank closer to the station had been erected to replace it, and although the old structure had not been torn down, it was not now used.
Frank took a huge bite out of his sandwich and began to munch it thoughtfully. The sight of the two water stations had given him an idea, but at first it seemed to him to be too absurd for consideration. He was wondering whether he should mention it to his brother.
Then he noticed that Joe, too, was gazing thoughtfully down the railway tracks. Joe raised a sandwich to his lips absently, essayed a bite and missed the sandwich altogether. Still he continued gazing at the two water towers.
Finally Joe turned and looked at his brother.
In the eyes of both was the light of a great discovery. They knew that they were both thinking of the same thing.
"Two water towers," said Frank slowly.
"An old one and a new one."
"And Jackley said—"
"He hid the stuff in the old tower."
"He was a railwayman."