“Those chaps will be here, sooner or later. We’ve got to watch out for them,” said Ree decisively, when John concluded. “What a horrible fellow that Duff is!”
“Such greed for gold—such greed for gold!” murmured Theodore Hatch sorrowfully. “Better, my dear, kind aunt, hadst thou thrown thy riches and thy jewels to the flames!”
“Does Mr. Hatch know we have the half of the letter which Ichabod Nesbit had?” John asked, in the midst of the questions Ree put to him, and the exclamation of the Quaker.
“I know thou hast the writing, friend. I know that, and promise me that Duff shall never have it!”
The old gentleman’s eager earnestness was most intense. As he spoke he rose partially to his feet, leaning heavily on the table. His movement was so sudden, his manner so keenly earnest, that both Ree and John involuntarily started back in surprise, the Quaker bending toward them. As for an instant all paused in these attitudes, the hickory bark torch on the mantel and the blaze of the fire casting a flickering, ruddy glow upon them, a most dramatic picture was presented.
“Sit down, Mr. Hatch,” said Ree quietly, hesitating but a moment. “Duff shall not have that portion of the letter which we found. It is your own, and we shall help you to prevent his getting it, if he tries.”
“What we want to do,” said John bluntly, “is to get hold of the part of the letter that Duff has.”
“That depends on what Mr. Hatch says,” Ree answered.
“It was my poor, dear aunt’s money. It was to be Ichabod’s and mine. Now Ichabod’s gone, and—”
“All the money is yours,” John put in as the Quaker hesitated.