It was some time after that before the camp settled down for the night, but the guide sat in the shadows, smoking his pipe and thinking.
“Did you hear what Emma said?” questioned Elfreda in a whisper to Grace as they snuggled under their blankets.
“About what?”
“About Mr. White. It seems he may have been somewhere near us out there.”
“This affair has several queer phases,” admitted Grace.
“I don’t care. I’m glad the diary is out of my hands; now I can wash them of it all, and my conscience at the same time. My gold mine has gone a-glimmering.” Elfreda laughed, but without much mirth.
“My dear J. Elfreda, you are not going to get off so easily. Here is the page on which you wrote the location of the gold mine at Mr. Petersen’s direction. I had the leaf in my hand when the book was snatched away, and it just tore itself loose and remained with me. So you see you are still fated to be a millionaire. Reason will tell you that the book may not be of value to the possessor.”
Miss Briggs asked why.
“Because,” replied Grace, “there can be nothing very definite in the diary or it would not have been necessary for Mr. Petersen to give you the definite directions that he did. The matter of real value, you will find, is on the sheet that I still have. I’ll give it to you in the morning. My advice to you is to commit those lines to memory, and then burn the slip of paper.”
“Yes. I will burn it all right,” agreed Miss Briggs. “Don’t say gold to me again to-night. I wish to sleep—to sleep peacefully.” Elfreda made good her word on the following morning, and destroyed the slip of paper.