“The things all fell out!” cried Tom. “They must be scattered around here somewhere. Let’s look,” and he started off.
“No use,” said Frank, quietly.
“Why not?” asked Tom, in wonder.
“Because those things never fell out of that box,” went on the Big Californian.
“Why didn’t they?” demanded Phil. “When the box was knocked around in the water, or even inside the locker, why wouldn’t it be split open and the things fall out?”
“It wasn’t split, as you can easily see,” went on Frank, calmly, “and the cover wasn’t forced open by banging against the rocks. It was opened by some slender instrument being shoved under the catch, and then pried upon. See, there are the marks. No rocks ever made those,” and he showed several scratches in the shiny surface of the box, near the clasp. The scratches went entirely under the broad brass fastener, showing that something thin enough to have been employed in this way was used. As Frank had said, no rock against which the case might have been tossed by the storm-waters, could have done it.
“Well, let’s take it to Mr. Farson,” went on Sid. “We’ll tell him how we found it, and he can then see that we had nothing to do with taking the things—even in a joke. Let’s hurry back to town.”
“Let’s do nothing of the sort!” exclaimed Frank quickly.
“Why not?” demanded his chums in chorus.
“If you want tongues to wag any more—if you want a real suspicion to be cast on us, where there’s only the faintest one now—if you want to make real trouble, take that box to Mr. Farson. If you don’t, and if you want to get at the real facts in this case, just keep quiet about it.”