As he was sipping the cool beverage he heard inside the old shed the murmur of voices.
“Hum! Tramps I guess,” reasoned Joe to himself. But a moment later he knew it could not be tramps for the words he heard were these:
“And do you think you can get control of the patents?”
“I’m sure of it,” was the answer. “He doesn’t know about the reverting clause in his contract, and he’s working on a big improvement in a corn——”
Then the voice died away, though Joe strained his ears in vain to catch the other words. Somehow he felt vaguely uneasy.
“Where have I heard that first voice before?” he murmured, racking his brains. Then like a flash it came to him. The quick, incisive tones were those of Mr. Rufus Holdney, of Moorville, to whom he had once gone with a letter from Mr. Matson.
“And if you can get the patents,” went on Mr. Holdney, “then it means a large sum of money.”
“For both of us,” came the eager answer, and Joe wondered whom the other man could be.
“You are sure there won’t be any slip-up?” asked Mr. Holdney.