“The river—” the stonecutter faltered.
For a fleeting instant the man’s gaze had roved toward a large object covered with a piece of canvas. As Crocker’s words came back to Penny, she suddenly knew why he had been so startled to see her father. Impulsively, she darted across the room and jerked the canvas from the object it covered. Revealed for all to see was a large rounded rock, bearing a carving which had not been completed.
“A record stone!” she cried. “Truman Crocker, you are the one who planted those fakes! You’ve been hired by someone!”
“No, no,” the man denied, cringing away.
Mr. Parker strode across the room, and one glance at the rock Penny had uncovered convinced him that his daughter’s accusation was a sound one. Obviously, the stone had been treated with acid and chemicals to give it an appearance of great age. Several Indian figures remained uncompleted.
“Who hired you?” he demanded of Truman Crocker. “Tell the truth!”
“I ain’t tellin’ nothing,” the stonecutter returned sullenly.
“Then you’ll go to jail,” Mr. Parker retorted. “You’ve been a party to a fraud. It was the publicity agent of the Indian Show who hired you. He probably gave you a hundred dollars for the job.”
“Not that much,” Crocker muttered. “An’ you can’t send me to jail because all I did was fix the stones and put ’em where he told me.”
“You won’t go to jail if you testify to the truth,” Mr. Parker assured him. “All you’ll have to do is tell what you know—”