“You found out about that hut in the swamp!” cried Nell. “Now, I know why you were so anxious to investigate Phrosy’s ghosts!”
“Hold on, hold on!” begged Amy, rubbing a hand across a troubled forehead. “You proceed too swiftly for me, as Miss Seymour would remark. My poor intelligence refuses to follow your drift.”
“You see, it was like this,” said Burd, taking the story away from Darry and speaking swiftly. “Darry did find out that this woman and her companions came from the hut in the swamp, and he got it into his well-oiled brain pan that this unpleasant abode was the home of counterfeiters——”
“An ideal one I must say,” murmured Amy. “Absolutely safe from intrusion.”
“Ideal, as you say,” agreed Burd. “And if it had not been for Darry, the invincible sleuthhound, it might have remained absolutely safe from intrusion to the end of time. He confided to Fol and me his suspicions, and we immediately decided to investigate the inhabitants of the mysterious hut.”
“And you never told us a word about it!” complained Amy. “That is what I call just plain mean.”
“All the time you said you were going to investigate the queer noises from the swamp, you were after the counterfeiters!” exclaimed Jessie, excitedly.
“Not on your life!” Fol chuckled. “When we said we were after ghosts, we were after ghosts.”
“And, by George,” announced Burd, emphatically, “we found ’em, too!”