“Sure we want to find that out,” agreed the Storm Mountain police force.
“Well, let’s stick to business,” proposed Mr. Duncan.
“What, and let this feller get away with his potato sack of booty?”
“There wasn’t any potato sack or any other kind of a sack of booty!” somewhat testily declared Mr. Duncan. “The only thing stolen was a small box belonging to Hiram. The thief could have tucked it under his arm. He didn’t need to carry it in a sack.”
“Oh,” murmured Mr. Drayton, somewhat crestfallen, “that’s so. I forgot about the booty being in a small box. But who was here with a sack of potatoes?” he demanded, as if no one could answer.
“Might have been Hiram himself,” suggested Jolly Bill. “He always was a great hand for potatoes when he and I were shipmates together. Like as not he lugged some spuds in for the winter.”
“Or some farmer may have brought him a bag,” added Harry. “I guess, Ned, this clew isn’t going to amount to anything.”
“Just my luck!” said Ned with a quizzical smile. “We’ll have to let Bob work this out. What say, Bob?”
“It looks as if it was a sack of potatoes that had been set down and picked up again, several times,” answered the young detective. “I guess it doesn’t mean anything in connection with this robbery. Though, of course, it won’t do any harm to ask Mr. Beegle if he carried the sack around or if some one brought him potatoes. But I’d like to try this key experiment now.”
“Yes, let’s clear up one thing at a time,” suggested Mr. Duncan. “I can’t spend all my time over in Storm Mountain. It’s the folks in Cliffside who pay my salary, and I’ve got to do my work there.”