"Yes."
"I should think it would be better to go and see them."
"No doubt it would, but somehow I don't like the idea of having to go and talk to Mrs. Wernberg about it. I suppose I'm a coward."
"I don't blame you," exclaimed Bob, and after he had returned the car to its place in the garage he came back to the house to wait until his father should have finished the note he was writing.
When it was ready Mr. Cook handed it to Bob, who at once started for the Wernbergs' house, accompanied by Hugh. They discussed the recent turn of events in the mystery and were somewhat at a loss as to what their next move should be. Now that the old deserted house was a thing of the past they did not know where to look for the seat of the conspiracy. They did decide, however, that in so far as it was possible they would keep watch on number twelve eighty-two Elm Street.
They mounted the front steps of the Wernbergs' house, and Bob advanced toward the door bell. Before he rang it, however, he spied an envelope lying at his feet, half concealed under the door mat. He stooped to pick it up, and as he glanced at it he uttered an exclamation of surprise.
"Look, Hugh," he exclaimed.
The envelope was of plain white paper and addressed to Mr. Wernberg. There was no street number on it, merely the name. This in itself was not particularly odd, nor was it the cause of Bob's surprise. On the other side of the envelope, however, was scrawled a drawing. It was the picture of an alligator.