“Hamish, for Pete’s sake, what are you driving at?” his sister burst out. “If you’ve got anything to tell why on earth don’t you tell it? You’re not in the secret service yet, you know! Stop acting like a ‘G’ man.”
“Oh, all right, all right—make fun of me! Treat me ’sif I was Buddie, the Boy Detective, if you want to!” He got up stiffly and started down the path toward his car.
“Hamish,” called Eve softly, “please don’t go yet. What are we going to do about this—this criminal next door? I’m scared stiff!”
He turned about and regarded her suspiciously. But the sincerity in her brown eyes apparently reassured him. “Well,” he said, coming back and reseating himself, “if you want my advice—I think the place oughta be watched.”
“If the man the Captain’s hiding really is Bangs,” Eve said thoughtfully, “then I think we ought to tell Aunt Cal. She’s very anxious to have a talk with him.”
“Oh, no, you mustn’t do that—not yet!” Hamish returned quickly.
“But why not?” I protested.
“Oh, gosh, don’t you see!” Hamish’s impatience with the female intellect was apparent. “Don’t you see that Bangs—or whatever his name is—is the only person who can lead us to that treasure—or whatever he’s after at Craven House? If he’s arrested, the game’s up.”
“Hamish is perfectly right,” agreed Hattie May in mounting excitement. “What we’ve got to do is to watch!”
“But why should the Captain be hiding the man if it is Bangs?” I demanded. “It makes him guilty too in a way—what is it they call it—an accessory!”