"Of course they do." Moya's eyes began to shine. "Now suppose there is something about that hat he didn't want them to see."
"How do you mean?" India picked up the hat and turned it round slowly. "It's worn and a bit disreputable, but he wouldn't care for that."
Moya found a pair of scissors in her work basket. With these she ripped off the outer ribbon. This told her nothing. Next she examined the inside. Under the sweat pad was a folded slip of paper. She waved it in excitement.
"What did I tell you?"
"But—if he is innocent—what could there be he wanted to hide?"
"I don't know." Moya unfolded the paper enough to see that there was writing in it. "Do you think we ought to read this?"
"I don't know," India repeated in her turn. "Perhaps it may be a message to you."
Moya's face lighted. "Of course that's it. He wanted to tell us something when the rest were not there, so he used this method."
Three cramped lines were penciled on the torn fragment of paper.
At wharf above camp.
Twelve steps below big rock.
In gunny sack three yards from shore.