“Let’s cut out the nonsense,” he suggested, serious. “For we’ve got a man’s size job on our hands tonight in getting the bonds. This is our last chance, fellows. For a dozen cops will be nosing around here to-morrow.” [[194]]
Scoop was looking at me steadily, his eyes sort of narrowed and probing. Laughing in the conclusion of his thoughts, he started for the boat.
“Come on, Miss Pansy Blossom,” he beckoned to me. “This is your busy night.”
“What do you mean?” I inquired quickly.
But I couldn’t get him to expose his thoughts. All the way to the island he kept going, “Tra-la-lee-tra-la-lum!” in imitation of the piano tuner. And at intervals he would look at me and laugh.
I saw that he was up to some scheme bearing on the recovery of the buried bonds from under Bid Stricker’s tent. I couldn’t imagine what the scheme was. But plainly I was involved in it.
I was not without anxiety in the prospect of what lay ahead of me. [[195]]