On their way back they passed, unconsciously, near the place where the tin box was concealed.
Hovering near the spot was Ralph Temple, uneasy for the safety of the buried treasure.
He eyed the two young fellows with suspicion. They had no guns in their hands, and he could not understand what object they had in coming to this out-of-the-way place so early in the morning.
“What are you about here?” he demanded, roughly.
Philip was frightened and turned pale; but James Congreve only surveyed the man curiously, and said:
“Is that any business of yours, my friend?”
“You’ll find out whether it’s any business of mine,” returned Temple, angrily.
“That’s precisely what I would like to find out,” said Congreve, coolly. “You accost us as if you were the owner of the wood, which, I take it, you are not.”
“Do you want me to wring your neck, young man?” said Temple, with a growl.
“Oh, don’t make him angry, James!” begged Philip, nervously, laying his hand on Congreve’s arm.