“I reckon we’ll look amongst them piles of timber,” he exclaimed.
Deputy Pusey followed the mill owner up the little track to the long, open shed and peered inside.
“Like to climb up into the attic?” asked Mr. Camp, carefully filling his pipe, and nodding upward.
The officer smiled, turned and shook his head. When it was completely dark and the two searchers had returned to the buggy empty handed, Mr. Camp was sitting on the fence, his pipe sputtering and glowing in the black night.
“Camp,” exclaimed Attorney Stockwell angrily, “I think you know a good deal more’n you’re lettin’ on.”
“I reckon that’s right, Mr. Stockwell,” drawled the mill owner, without changing his position. “I wouldn’t be supprized ef I told all I knowed ’at a certain lawyer might take to the woods. D’you find any airships?”
With a curse, the lawyer sprang into his buggy and drove rapidly away. Before the buggy was out of sound, a small figure seemed to appear out of the grass back of the silent man on the fence. It was Bud, a little nervous, but with a wide smile.
“Say, Mr. Camp,” he exclaimed, “I was kind o’ scart when you askt ole Pusey to git up there in the attic where the machine was.”
“How’s that?” asked the old man.