A pallor crept over the Elder’s face, and without a word further he took his hat from a hook in the corner of the room, paused, and then carefully arranged the papers he had pushed aside at their entrance and placing them in his desk, turned the key, still without a word. At the door he waited a moment with his hand on the knob, and with the characteristic lift of his brows, asked: “Has anything been said to my wife?”
“No, no. We thought best to do nothing until under your direction.”
“Thank you. That’s well. Whatever comes, I would spare her all I can.”
The three then drove slowly back to the top of the bluff, and on the way Bertrand explained to the Elder all that had transpired. “It seemed best to Mary and me that you should look the ground over yourself, before any action be taken. We hoped appearances might be deceptive, and that you would have information that would set our fears at rest before news of a mystery should reach the town.”
“Where are the boys who found these things?”
Mr. Walters spoke, “My son was one of them, and he is now at home. They are forbidden to speak to any one until we know more about it.”
Arrived at the top of the bluff the three men went carefully over the ground, even descending the steep path to the margin of the river.
“There,” said Bertrand, “the notebook was picked up on that flat rock which juts out from that narrow ledge. John Walters crawled along the ledge to get it. The handkerchief was caught on that thorn shrub, halfway up, see? And the pencil was picked up down here, somewhere.”