"Too bad it happened," answered Matt, as he and Carl likewise seated themselves. "We were just getting squared away to find out something worth while, Dick."
"I couldn't hold myself in, that's all. The idea of Sercomb having that crimp in tow! I'm a Fiji if I don't think my dear cousin put up that Lamy job with Mings."
"I'd thought of that, too. But why should he do it?"
"To knock the bottom out of my ditty-bag and keep me away from La Vita Place. More belike, he'd a notion Mings would land me in a sick-bay. You remember Uncle Jack's room was all torn up when we first saw it?"
Matt nodded.
"Why was that?" Ferral went on. "Carpet torn away, sea-chest dumped all over the floor, everything in a raffle. Why was that?"
"What do you think was the cause of it?"
Ferral leaned across the table.
"Sercomb had been looking for Uncle Jack's will!" he declared. "He never found Uncle Jack, and he never found the will. If he's got a piece of paper, it's one he's fixed up for himself."
"Mighty serious talk, old chap," said Matt gravely, "but I've a hunch you've got the right end of it, at that. But for this row, we might have been on fairly good terms with Sercomb, and have used our knowledge, in a quiet way, to discover what he's trying to do."