Suddenly he paused by a certain willow tree, looking at it curiously.
“What is it?” Hervey asked excitedly.
“Looks as if a jack-knife had been at work around here, huh? Somebody’s been making a willow whistle. Look at this.”
Tom held up a little tube of moist willow bark, at the same time kicking some shavings at his feet. “Looks as if they passed this point, anyway,” he said. “Ever make one of those willow whistles? I’ve made dozens of them for tenderfeet. If you make them the right way, they make a dickens of a loud noise.”
At last they found the trail. It wound up and away from the road about half a mile farther along than where they had found the shavings.
“I guess no one would have noticed those but you,” Hervey said admiringly; “I guess the detectives would have gone right past them.”
“A lot of little clews are better than one big one,” Tom said as they scrambled up into the dense thicket. “The initials on the turtle, the new jack-knife, the willow shavings, all fit together.”
“Yes, but it takes Tom Slade to fit them together,” Hervey said.