“No, we must have been at lunch at the time. None of the servants know anything about the matter, either. It’s a real, dark and deep mystery.”
“It’s all of that, my dear Watson,” proclaimed Jimsy, folding his arms and scowling in imitation of a famous detective of fiction. “Why on earth should the thief want to return the wallet? You’d think he’d dodge such a risk of being arrested.”
But Peggy had been looking at the wallet which had so amazingly reappeared.
“Why, Jess,” she cried, “it’s all mud-stained. It looks as if it had been buried somewhere.”
“It certainly does,” agreed Jimsy, “but even that doesn’t give us any more to go on than the theory that the jewels have been buried some place.”
“And been dug up again,” put in Peggy, quickly.
After some more conversation the group was about to break up, when Jess exclaimed suddenly:
“Oh, by the way, did you hear about Jeff Stokes? No, I see you haven’t. Well, he’s been appointed wireless operator at Rocky Point.”
“Oh, I’m so glad,” cried Peggy, impulsively; “that’s been his ambition for a long time.”
Rocky Point was a projecting neck of land about two miles east of Sandy Bay. It was quite an important signalling station for ships passing up and down the Sound. The position which Jeff Stokes had secured was a lucrative one in a way, and, at any rate, was in direct line of promotion.