“I don’t know!” he laughed. “My own idea—and Croyden’s (as he has, doubtless, explained to you) is that the place, where Parmenter buried the jewels, is now under water, possibly close to the shore. We dragged every inch of the bottom, which has been washed away to a depth more than sufficient to uncover the iron box, but found nothing. A great storm, such as they say sometimes breaks over the Chesapeake, may wash it on the beach—that, I think, is the only way it will ever be found.... It makes everything seem very real to have stood by Parmenter’s grave!” he said, thoughtful, as they turned back toward town.
On nearing the Carrington house, they saw Croyden approaching. They met him at the gates.
“I’ve been communing with Parmenter,” said Macloud.
“I didn’t know there was a spiritualistic medium in Hampton! What does the old man look like?” smiled Croyden. 241
“I didn’t see him.”
“Well, did he help you to locate his jewel box?”
“He wasn’t especially communicative—he was in his grave.”
“That isn’t surprising—he’s been dead something over one hundred and seventy years. Did he confide where he’s buried?”
“He’s buried with the Duvals in the Cemetery, here.”
“He is!” Croyden exclaimed. “Humph! one more circumstance to prove the letter speaks the truth. Everything but the thing itself. We find his will, probated with Marmaduke Duval as executor, we even discover a notice of his death in the Gazette, and now, finally, you find his body—or the place of its interment! But, hang it all! what is really worth while, we can’t find.”