“What is your plan?” asked Sandy.
“We’ll lay a trap for him. Between us we can scrape up a little roll of money, and we’ll use that as bait. I’ll pull it out of my pocket when he’s looking, and pretend I’m counting it.”
“Yes, yes! Go on.”
“I’ll return the money to the inside pocket of my coat while he’s still watching me. At night, when he comes into the room, I’ll throw my coat carelessly over a chair.”
“Look here,” objected Sandy, a wry smile on his face, “I don’t think we have fifty dollars between us. Hardly an impressive roll, is it?”
Dick grinned. “I can easily remedy that.”
As he spoke, he pulled from his pocket a number of old envelopes, containing letters, wadded them together and then began wrapping crisp new bills around them. With the acquisition of the bank notes Toma and Sandy gave him, the dummy had grown to noble proportions. The boys laughed gleefully over the subterfuge.
A short time later, returning to the house, Dick awaited his opportunity. Frischette was nowhere to be seen, when first they entered, but presently a noise at the back attracted their attention and immediately afterward Frischette came through the door, leading into the kitchen, carrying a box under his arm.
Dick and Sandy exchanged significant glances. Both recalled what Toma had told them regarding that box. Also they observed the inexplicable change that had come over their host. His animation and vivacity were gone. From under their shaggy brows his dark eyes darted glances from right to left—the look of a maniac or insane person. Without even a nod, he passed by the three boys and entered his own room.
“Got ’em again,” whispered Sandy, much taken aback. “Not a very good time for the working out of our plan, is it? He’s deeply engrossed in that mysterious box by this time.”