He was full of ingenuity, which I quickly recognized after he had associated himself with me. He made a minute inspection of the house I had taken for him, and afterwards became possessed of the fixed idea that the treasure was secreted behind the panelling of the centre upstairs room. Why, I know not. But no argument of mine would remove the idea, and he was frantically anxious to obtain possession of the premises in order to secure the old Italian’s hoard.
We were, however, compelled to exercise considerable patience. We could not hurry the outgoing tenants, neither dare we betray any undue anxiety regarding the place. We could only await a response from Purvis.
It came at last after nearly a week of idle waiting. Mr. Kenway handed it to me, saying: —
“It seems as though he wants to take the place after all.”
“He’s too late,” I laughed, and eagerly read the letter, which was to the effect that he had not yet decided, but would write giving a definite answer in a couple of days. The letter was headed, “14, Sterndale Road, Hammersmith, London,” and to that address Mr. Kenway was asked to write.
Our ruse had worked satisfactorily. We were again cognizant of the address—the postal address—of our mysterious rival.
Reilly was eager to return to London in search of him, but we remained at Rockingham yet another day, making inquiries and getting on good terms with most of the people with whom we came into contact.
Ben Knutton was, of course, closely questioned, and in reply to my inquiry whether he had since met the gentleman who purchased the bit of parchment from him, he said: —
“Yes. ’E came about a fortni’t ago and asked me if I had anything else to sell, and I told him that I hadn’t.”
“He called on you at your cottage?”