“Do you mean the flat package the soldier found in our baggage at the frontier where we were searched?” inquired Jimmie.
“No doubt it is the same one,” stated Mackinder.
“Then,” declared the boy, pointing at Mackinder’s hand, “I have every reason to believe that you know more about the whereabouts of that package than do we. I recognize that peculiar scar on your hand!”
Quick glances of inquiry were directed by the boys at the hand toward which Jimmie was pointing. It bore a scar running clear across the back—an ugly, jagged scar that they had heard Jimmie describe.
“What did you mean by coming here and trying to throw a bluff into us about the package still being in our kits when you yourself took it from the table in the hut?” demanded Jimmie aggressively.
“You’re mistaken, boys, I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“Then you’ve got a mighty poor memory!” declared the lad.
“Mr. Mackinder,” Ned said in a low tone vibrant with indignation, “if you’ve quite satisfied yourself that we have not got the package you seem to be seeking we’ll excuse you. We don’t want your company any more, and we shall try to proceed upon our journey alone.”
“But, see here, boys—” Mackinder attempted to explain.
“Not another word!” cried Ned rising. “There is the door and you are at liberty to use it quickly. You are welcome to the package!”