“I think not, though we have talked of the place. There is nothing more I can tell you.”
“I wish to see that forged letter,” said Nick. “I will call at your Broadway office to-morrow morning.”
“Very well.”
“I then will go with you to the Barker residence.”
Nick’s face wore a frown when he hung up the receiver. He was thinking, not of what he had just heard, but of the stolen Strickland treasures.
“The rascals may have taken them to that old homestead,” he muttered, gazing intently at his desk. “Still, there would have been that same danger that the undertaker’s wagon would be seen. The only really consistent place to which they could have driven it is a graveyard. But that, on the other hand, in view of its contents, seems utterly absurd and——”
Nick stopped short. His eyes suddenly lighted. He was hit with an idea that had not occurred to him before.
“Entombed out there!” he muttered. “A tomb! By Jove, that may call the turn.”
Nick seized the telephone again and got the Fordham telephone exchange. He learned after a few inquiries just where the old Barker place was located, and that the sexton of the cemetery mentioned was one Jason Dexter.
“He has a telephone in his house,” said the operator. “I will connect you with him.”