“Really?” asked Martin. “How strange!”
The sarcasm was lost, however. Bob shook his head and went on. “No, because I have a horrible suspicion that I tied that handkerchief to the handle of the paint can, Brand. And if I did they’ll find it, sure as shooting. I—I suppose it had your initials on it, eh?”
Willard shook his head. “No,” he answered gently.
“Honest?” Bob perked up. “Then it won’t matter if they do find it, will it? Gee, I was getting sort of worried! You see, I thought first I’d given it back to you, Brand, and then I thought I’d thrown it away, but Cal said last night that he sort of remembered feeling it around the handle and I sort of half remember putting it there. But if it didn’t have any mark on it, we shouldn’t worry.”
“I didn’t say that,” corrected Willard. “I said it didn’t have any initials, and it didn’t. All it had was ‘Harmon’, in nice big letters.”
“Great Scott!” gasped Bob.
“By the way, you haven’t cast your eye over the Darlington paper by any chance, have you?” drawled Martin.
“No. Is there anything in it?” asked Bob anxiously.
“Why, yes, you might say so. Like to look at it?”