“Curiously cut stones,” interrupted Sandy. “I read about them too!”
“That’s the ones.”
“Matched stones—and priceless,” added Larry. “The paper said they were a present to one of Mr. Everdail’s ancestors by one of the most fabulously rich Hindu Nabobs who ever lived.”
“But who would want to destroy them?” Dick wondered.
“That-there is just what I can’t tell you,” Jeff replied.
“How did you get into this?” Sandy’s suspicions came uppermost.
Jeff drew a bulky, registered envelope from his coat, displayed the registration stamps and marks, and his name and address typed on the envelope. Drawing out a half dozen hand written sheets in a large masculine “fist,” he showed the signature of Atley Everdail at the end.
“This-here is what got me going,” he stated. “Want to read it or will I give it to you snappy and quick?”
Sandy extended his hand and Jeff readily surrendered the letter.
“I’m letting you see I am straight with you,” he remarked.