“Bosh!” Macloud answered. “I’ve got more money than I want, let me have some fun with the excess, Croyden. And this promises more fun than I’ve had for a year—hunting a buried treasure, within sight of Maryland’s capital. Moreover, it won’t likely be out of reach of your own pocketbook, this can’t be very valuable land.” He remounted his horse. “Let us ride around over 114 the intended site, and prospect—we may discover something.”
But, though, they searched for an hour, they were utterly unsuccessful. The four beech trees had disappeared as completely as though they never were.
“I’m perfectly confident, however,” Macloud remarked as they turned away toward town, “that somewhere, within the lines of your proposed lot, lie the Parmenter jewels. Now, for the lot. Once you have title to it, you may plow up the whole thing to any depth you please, and no one may gainsay you.”
“I’m not so sure,” replied Croyden. “My knowing that the treasure was on it when purchased, may make me liable to my grantor for an accounting.”
“But you don’t know!” objected Macloud.
“Yet, I have every reason to believe—the letter is most specific.”
“Suppose, after you’ve paid a big price for the land, you don’t find the treasure, could you make him take it back and refund the purchase money?”
“No, most assuredly, no,” smiled Croyden.
“Mighty queer doctrine! You must account for what you find—if you don’t find it, you must keep the land, anyway. The other fellow wins whatever happens.”
“It’s predicated on the proposition that I have 115 knowingly deceived him into selling something for nothing. However, I’m not at all clear about it; and we will buy if we can—and take the chances. But we won’t go to work with a brass band, old man.”