Apparently Mr. Hammond did not object. Unmindful of his coat sleeve, he was thrusting the entire length of his arm into the hollow recess.
“I wonder if this was not a Dutch oven that was covered over when it failed to be used. In that case I may find a petrified loaf of bread or pumpkin pie,” Mr. Hammond remarked in a slightly ironical tone, bored by this time.
An instant later his expression altered sufficiently for the group of girls watching to become conscious of the change. The next he drew forth a small package of letters tied together with a worn cord.
Were they of the remotest interest or value?
No one could say. At least the audience was willing to offer them the benefit of an investigation.
Joan Peters went away to her tent, returning with a candle.
If there was anything else inside the dark enclosure the lighted candle would show it forth.
Except for the letters the recess was empty.
Mr. Hammond continued to hold the packet and stare at it.
“Don’t you think you had best open the letters and read what they say?” Tory asked restlessly, wishing that Mr. Hammond would give her the opportunity. After all, she had been the real discoverer, even if her hands had not first touched the yellowed papers. Perhaps they would contain thrilling information for Kara. She might be an heiress or possessed of a more romantic heritage.