“Not quite, sis,” Roy reminded her, “that affair of the missing jewels is still a mystery, and as long as it stays so some folks will always be suspicious of me.”
“Oh, Roy, don’t say such things. Nobody but the horridest of the horrid would––”
“Unluckily,” struck in the boy, “there are a lot of the horridest of the horrid in this world, and some of them are in Sandy Bay.”
He laughed and then went on more seriously:
“It’s a pretty nasty feeling, I can tell you, to know that you are unjustly suspected by several folks of—of—er—knowing more about an affair of that kind than you tell.”
“What can have become of the jewels?”
“Ah, that’s just it. Of course we have our suspicion, based really on nothing, that Fanning Harding knows something about them. But if he did why would he place that wallet on the porch of Jess’s home?”
“It’s beyond me.”
“And beyond me, too. I’m quite sure that nobody was about the place when the accident happened, and I could not have been unconscious more than a few seconds. Now who could have stolen the wallet in that time?”
“It will all come out in time. I’m sure of it, Roy, dear,” said Peggy, earnestly. “Perhaps it will turn out to be not such a mystery after all.”