“But there isn’t any!”
“There is! There’s got to be! They couldn’t take him through the door and fasten it behind them! They couldn’t get him out of that six inch opening at the top of a window! There has to be a secret way out! And, by George, I’m going to find it, if I have to tear the house down!”
“I’d rather you’d find Kim,” said Elsie, sadly.
“You poor child! Of course you would. Forgive me, I’m afraid I seem to think less of the quarry than the chase! But I don’t really. We’re going to get Kimball Webb back,—and we’re going to do it by means of the information you unconsciously achieved through this adventure of yours!”
“And you don’t think they mean to give him back after I did my part?”
“I do not! They look on you as an inexhaustible gold mine. They’ll wait a while and then make a stab for another big sum. Less maybe than the first, but exorbitant. Apparently they’re not afraid of anything or anybody. Clever chaps, but sure to come a cropper yet!”
“How do you know?”
“Oh, they’re too cocksure; they’re bound to overlook or forget some little thing, and now I know there is a scent to be followed, I’m all for following it. Now I know there’s a sleeping dog, I shan’t let him lie! Take that letter! The two letters from them! Look at ’em! No attempt at disguised writing. Plain, bold penmanship,—not printed nor words cut out from a newspaper, nor any of those hackneyed stunts.”
“Well?”
“Well, that proves they were written by some one who never could by the remotest chance be suspected. Somebody so outside suspicion that they’re willing to send his regular handwriting.”