Shaking, Hannah put her apron to her eyes. "Hannah, you must tell me. It is important that I know. No, don't cry. Did Mr. O'Neill bury the money—in Uncle's fireplace?"
"Yes," choked Hannah in a low voice. "Oh, Hughie will never forgive me!"
"How do you know?"
"The doctor. Hughie went on diggin', thinking there must be more, until he was sick with nerves. The doctor had to tell him."
"And how did the doctor know?"
The girl's strained quiet helped Hannah to regain her self-control.
"Mr. O'Neill went to Rink's hotel to telephone," she faltered, wiping her eyes, "and Sam Acker put his ear to the door. He—he telephoned for a lot of ragged money—"
Joan caught her breath.
"And then a week later," gulped Hannah, "when the doctor came to tend his wife, Sam told it, for Mr. O'Neill had said the doctor sent him there to telephone. And the doctor never would have told but for Hughie's nerves. He said so when he pledged us both to keep it secret. He spoke wonderful about Mr. O'Neill. That I must say. And he called him somebody Donkeyhote—"
"Where is Mr. O'Neill?" "He drove down to the village with Mr. Rittenhouse for the mail."