“You’re right. I’ll tell Pa about it the first thing in the morning.”
“Yes,” waggled Scoop, “your pa is the one to see about the patent. And the sooner he starts [[22]]for Washington the better. There’s a train into Chicago at five o’clock. And from Chicago he can go directly to Washington. The people in the patent office will tell him how to get his drawings registered. And while he’s doing that, we’ll have some fun with mister millionaire.”
“A thing I can’t understand,” mused Tom, “is how Gennor traced Pa to this town.”
“Maybe,” I spoke up, giving Scoop and Peg the wink, “it was a ghost that picked the lock, and not a spy as you suppose.”
“Ghost?” repeated Tom, staring.
“Mr. Matson’s ghost,” I followed up.
“Who’s Mr. Matson?” he wanted to know.
“Haven’t you heard about the murder?” I countered, surprised.
He shook his head.
“Mr. Matson,” I told him, “was a queer old codger. A puzzle maker. Didn’t believe in banks. Kept his money in the house. One night robbers came. The old man was murdered. But the body never was found. That’s the strange part. The robbers either buried it or took it away with them.”