“And so he isn’t an Italian at all,” was his further musing.
“Queer I never suspected that. Though of course this Rod may be of Italian birth—enough so as to enable him to disguise himself as a dago organ grinder and talk broken English. He did it to perfection, though. But hold on—wait a minute——”
Bob was doing some quick thinking and this had its effect on his speed, for he cut along at a lively clip. However, at this hour of the early morning the roads were practically deserted.
“If this fellow was Rodney Marbury, the shipmate of Jolly Bill and Hiram Beegle—why didn’t either of them recognize him? They ought to, for they saw him often enough. They had sailed with him—they went on the treasure hunt together. And yet this supposed Italian comes to town, and passes close to Hiram and Jolly Bill, and neither of them says a word. Hiram ought to, if anybody would—for he was assaulted by this chap. And yet this Pietro didn’t hang back any. He associated right with Bill and Hiram. I can’t understand it unless——”
Bob ceased his musing for a moment and made a turn around a bad place in the highway. He was on a straight stretch now to the station.
“Disguised!” he exclaimed aloud, the word floating out into the cool, night air. “That’s it—he was disguised as a dago, with false hair and a false beard, I’m sure! Queer I never thought of that. He had an awful thick mop of hair and enough beard for a sofa cushion. But I never tumbled. Must have been pretty well made and stuck on. Or he may have let his own hair and beard grow—that would be the best disguise ever! Say, I’ve missed a lot of tricks in this—I’ve got to get busy and redeem myself. But I’m on some sort of a track now, and that’s better than chasing off through the bushes as I’ve been doing.
“Speaking of bushes—I wonder if this Rod—or Pietro—really was planting monkey nuts in that bramble patch or—or—jimminity crickets!” fairly shouted Bob in his excitement—“I have it now! He was digging after the treasure! Of course! That’s it. He had the map from the brass box and he was searching over Hank’s land for the treasure. Why didn’t I think of that before? Digging holes to plant monkey nuts! I might have known nothing of that sort could have been done. He was on the search for the treasure, of course. Oh, if I can only catch him!”
But as Bob neared the station another thought came to him.
“If he had the map, which told exactly where the treasure was buried, why did he have to dig all over the bramble patch on a chance of finding it? A man who buries treasure, and makes a map of it, gives the exact location so he can find it again, or so he can direct those whom he wants to find it.
“Now Hank buried the treasure and he made a map of it so Hiram, coming after him, could find it. Hiram isn’t any too well educated so the map would have to be fairly simple. Any one could read it.