Eve sat on the sea chest, her eyes round and big. “Sandy,” she said slowly, “if I read it in a story book, I would think of just one thing!”
“You mean—treasure?” I asked in a half whisper.
She nodded. “But of course in real life,” she went on hurriedly, “well, you know yourself, Sandy, real life is different, however much you try to make yourself believe otherwise.”
“Yes,” I admitted, “I know it is. But—look here!” I shot bolt upright on the bed with the suddenness of the thought that had come to me. “What do you suppose that man was doing in that garden today?”
“Why,” said Eve, “he was measuring, surveying or something, I suppose.”
“Surveyors don’t crawl on their knees,” I said. “And besides, he hadn’t any instruments, only a tape measure.”
Eve looked at me solemnly. “What are you driving at?” she asked.
“Well, this paper is his, isn’t it? And it’s got measurements on it. And he was measuring. It sounds crazy, of course, still——”
“But he didn’t have the paper; it was here under the bed!”
“Yes, I know. But he might have had it in his head, mightn’t he—the numbers, I mean?”