It did not take Tom long to do that. Tom was a good talker when he had anything on his mind, and he had Mr. Chisholm with him from the start. The man listened intently until he got through, and then gave Tom a slap on the back that I thought would have driven him into the ground.
“Them’s the very points that I have been running over in my own head ever since the court adjourned,” said he gleefully. “Now, how are you going to work it? Do you intend to go off without letting anybody know it? Remember that you have got some men to deal with that are just as smart as you are. There’s something about that Henderson that I don’t like any too well.”
“That is just what we intend to do,” replied Tom. “From some things I have heard of the man I don’t like him too well myself, and we can get to the house and give the things a thorough overhauling before he gets there. If we can find the pocket-book we’ll come back and tell you of it, and all you will have to do will be to go to that bank and stop the money.”
“But I don’t know where the bank is,” said Mr. Chisholm. “That’s what’s bothering of me now. It may be some bank in St. Louis.”
That was a set-back that Tom hadn’t thought of. He looked at me and then looked down at the ground.
“Never mind. You go on up to the house and search high and low for that pocket-book. Don’t leave a stone unturned that one can hide a pocket-book under, and when you get through come back and tell me what luck you have had. I guess if anybody can find it you can.”
“I think so too, Mr. Chisholm,” said I. “Tom’s the luckiest fellow I ever saw. He found the nugget when we had almost given up the search.”
“The nugget?” repeated Mr. Chisholm.
“Yes, sir; the one that Elam Storm lost fourteen years ago. He knew it was around there somewhere, but no one could tell him where it was. Tom in poking around and following what he considered to be a blind trail, stumbled onto it.”
“Why, I didn’t hear anything about that,” said Mr. Chisholm, casting a glance of admiration upon Tom. “Was there much into it?”