“We’ll go, but first we want to know about this arrow,” Dan said stubbornly. “Did you shoot it?”
“No, I didn’t,” the gardener retorted. “I got other things to do than shoot arrows.”
“Maybe you have a son—” Brad began, but the man interrupted.
“No, I don’t have a son,” he said. Uneasily the man glanced toward the veranda where an elderly looking gentleman had appeared. “Now get going, or I’ll call the police! This is your last warning.”
Thoroughly disgusted, Brad and Dan moved away. At the bend in the lane, they glanced back and saw that the elderly man remained on the porch, watching them. Evidently he was the owner of the property, they thought.
“We should have appealed to him,” Brad said. “For some reason, Old Sourpuss didn’t want us to talk to his employer. Probably he’s afraid we’ll drop a word to the master about how he’s allowed the weeds to flourish.”
Approaching the place where the arrow had been shot, the boys walked warily. Nothing happened. Nor did they see anyone hiding amid the bushes.
Safely, Dan and Brad reached the main road.
“Who do you suppose shot that arrow?” Dan speculated. “I don’t believe it was the gardener, and he said he has no son.”
Brad could not venture a guess. He agreed with Dan, however, that the arrow appeared to be identical with the one that had been shot into the target at the castle grounds.