“Looks like the real stuff,” he commented indifferently. “Got to dig and see if there’s any more, though.”
“Go ahead, then,” his companion said impatiently.
Gordon also wished to be sure that all of the stolen gold that remained was in the car, but he could not tear himself away from the sight and touch of those gleaming coins just then. Besides, he was quite willing that Cray should do whatever dirty work might be involved.
While the perspiring Cray was again removing the dirt which Simpson had shoveled back into the hole, the master criminal fondled the gold in the two suit cases, then grudgingly closed and strapped them. He had hardly done so before Cray announced:
“He told the truth. At any rate, there’s no more of it here.”
Green-eye Gordon took his revolver from his pocket and clubbed it.
“Just leave everything as it is, and let’s get out of this,” the supposed Nick Carter said impatiently, stepping aside, so that he was not directly in front of the garage door. “Come out here a moment, though, before we put this fellow into the car. I don’t want him to overhear.”
At that, the unsuspecting Cray threw the spade aside and came out, mopping his forehead.
“Where are you?” he asked, looking about uncertainly from beneath the folds of his handkerchief.