“And now here we go and find the empty box—it has every appearance of having been forced open by human hands. We take it to Mr. Farson, and say—‘Here’s your box, Mr. Jeweler; but it’s empty—that’s just how we found it, honest it is!’ Say, wouldn’t he smell a rat right away, and think we had the stuff?”
“No question about that,” declared Phil. “That ends it! Frank is right, we’ll have to keep mum about this for our own sakes, though I don’t like it. It makes us look guilty.”
“Not a bit of it,” declared Frank, stoutly. “It gives us a chance to find out who the guilty party is.”
“Who do you suppose it is?” asked Tom.
“I haven’t the least idea,” answered the California lad, quickly. “Someone may have been on the island before we were, and found, and rifled, the box; or that person may have come after we did. That’s one thing we’ve got to find out—and it isn’t going to be any cinch, take it from me!”
They all examined the box, and then looked about the place where it had been found, for other clues. But they found none—no other parts of the wrecked boat seemed to be there.
As they were coming away, to get to their boat and row to Randall, Tom stooped and picked from the ground a bit of gaudily-colored silk, a plaid of many colors, in a sort of ribbon.
“What’s that?” asked Sid.
“Looks like part of a Scotch necktie,” replied the tall pitcher.
“Let’s have a look,” suggested Frank, as he closely examined the piece of silk. “That’s no part of a necktie!” he exclaimed. “It’s a piece of a Mexican silk handkerchief of all the colors of the rainbow. I’ve seen ’em on sale out in my state. The Mexicans and some other folks are fond of sporting them, but they were always too rich for my blood. But, fellows, do you notice one thing about this?” and he held it up for inspection.