“The dress patterns were stolen from Mr. Ricks on the train. That was the work of another spy. And surely the radio man knows what his spies are doing.” There was a moment’s pause in our conversation. “Yes, sir,” Scoop waggled, “it wouldn’t surprise me a bit to have Gennor ship another spy down here to check up on the first one.”
I had a sudden worried feeling.
“Evidently,” my companion continued, thinking, “the soap man knows that the hidden treasure is his biggest stake. That’s why he’s giving it his first attention. Um.… I wonder how he found out about the hidden money.”
“Maybe,” I suggested, “he got hold of one of Mrs. Kelly’s letters.”
“I wonder if he didn’t.”
We were now within sight of the whispering pine trees and the lonely brick house.
“There goes the mail man,” I pointed. “He’s stopping at the Ricks’ mail box. Let’s speed up.”
But Scoop was pressing on his thinker and didn’t seem to hear me.
“To-night,” he said, speaking to himself, sort [[116]]of, “we’re going to find out,” and he gave his head a sharp, decisive bob.
I was instantly uneasy.