There was a startled cry.
“It’s gone!”
Poppy and I saw in a flash what had happened. Secretly watching the cave, as the leader had said, the cat killer had stolen the gold cucumber, only to lose it later on in Mr. Weckler’s flower bed.
“I—I guess, boys,” the old man got up, white-faced, “that we’re done fur now.”
Poppy laughed.
“Don’t you ever think so, Mr. Weir. For it so happens that Jerry and I have been claiming ownership to your gold cucumber for the past twenty-four hours.” Hurriedly he told how the cucumber had fallen into our hands. “You can see,” he concluded, “why we connected the cat killer with the treasure. For that same morning we found out that the pirate not only had raised cucumbers as a hobby, but had made a queer cucumber mold.”
The old man’s eyes were full of admiration.
“Smart!” he waggled. “Smart as a whip!”
Ten minutes later our two loaded boats were afloat on the river. And as I looked back at the shore, with the talking machine in my lap, I fancied that I could trace the outline of a creeping black shape. But I wasn’t scared. For there were four of us now.
Oh, baby! The fun we were going to have! We were poor now. But in a day or two we probably would be as rich as Henry Ford.