Michael dropped on his knees and at once set to work examining the ground. Presently he took a tape measure from his pocket and began measuring. "You look," remarked Eve, "quite like Mr. Bangs himself, except that you've got more hair on your head."
Michael paid no attention. He measured thirteen feet and six inches south from the statue. Then, turning west at a right angle, counted off another seven feet. "There," he exclaimed at last, "that ought to be the spot, if any!"
We were kneeling beside him now, all three of us, bent eagerly over the matted grass. Suddenly Michael's finger dug into the earth and he lifted bodily forth a big square of ragged turf. "Why!" I stammered, "how queer!"
"Golly!" cried Eve. "He's dug here already! We--we're too late!"
"You mean he fitted the turf back like that to cover his tracks?" I cried with rising indignation.
"Looks like it," returned Michael, gazing down at the newly disturbed earth. "Naturally he didn't want to leave traces of his operations for anyone to see. Especially after you two came spying on him."
"The old villain! What right has he got to Captain Judd's treasure, I'd like to know!"
Michael looked up with his quizzical grin. "Did you really expect to find treasure buried here?" he asked.
"W-well," I stammered, somewhat embarrassed by the amusement in his gray eyes. "After what Captain Trout told us--I mean about the blue emerald and all----"
"Oh, that!" returned Michael scornfully. "That story sounds pretty fishy to me."
"But there must have been something here," put in Eve. "Or else Mr. Bangs wouldn't have been carrying around those measurements and all."
"If you didn't believe there was anything, why did you bother to come up here and look?" I demanded a little hotly.
"Well," he returned slowly, "I was curious to know what the fellow was up to for one thing. Then," he grinned again, "I knew you girls wouldn't sleep nights till you'd had a look."
"Oh, is that so!" I retorted haughtily. "Of course, we're just a couple of weak, credulous females----"
Michael paid no heed to my ill temper. He had drawn the letter out of his pocket and was studying it. "I'd give a lot," he remarked, "to know who wrote this!"
"What I can't understand," mused Eve, "is this: why, if Mr. Bangs found what he was after, was he so anxious to get the letter back? Anxious enough, in fact, to break into Aunt Cal's house last night to look for it?"