“Why, why—I was too excited at the time. I had it in my hand, of course. I remember it sort of fitted nicely in my hand—a little, flat poke, made of soft leather, that was somehow pleasant to the touch.”
In his excitement, Sandy rose to his feet.
“There! That’s what I’ve been driving at. Didn’t it occur to you at the time that the poke was curiously light?”
“No, I can’t remember that it did. On the contrary. I have a sort of hazy memory that, although the poke was somewhat flat, it did contain something.”
Sandy sighed. “Well, if that’s the case, I guess my theory is already exploded.”
“What were you trying to deduce?”
“You can have it for what it’s worth. You will recall that after Burnnel and Emery had spurned the money-box, and had knocked Creel flat across the threshold, they went inside and found the poke—the thing they had come after. They weren’t inside that room more than a few moments. I don’t believe they opened the poke inside the room, and I know they didn’t open it outside. They were probably satisfied that it contained what they had reason to believe it contained—I mean, weren’t suspicious.”
“I don’t understand you.”
“Well, it’s just a possibility, of course, yet it seems quite reasonable. Anyway, for the sake of argument, we’ll say that Creel had removed everything of value from the poke. Not suspecting this ruse, Burnnel and Emery took the poke away with them. A few yards away from the cabin they are confronted by Toma, and then we relieve them of that mysterious poke. We have it in our possession only a short time. Frischette snatches it away from you. Believing that he has a fortune in his hands, he decides to make his escape, leaving Creel, his confederate, in the lurch.”
Sandy paused for breath, smiled soberly, then went on again: