A sudden silence followed the reading of this last excerpt. Then Wyatt rose to his feet and began pacing up and down the floor.
“That has a direct bearing on this case,” he announced suddenly. “MacGregor must have found that note-book—or Creel or Frischette.... Any of those scoundrels. It’s the only possible way they could have learned of the existence of this chest and the two keys Dewberry carried with him. I am as sure of that as I am that I am standing here.”
“Of course. And if we can determine which one of those men found the note-book, we’ll have some valuable evidence.”
“It may force a confession from them,” said Rand. “Just before we came down here, as you remember, Inspector Cameron endeavored to cross-examine them. It was useless. Well, I haven’t lost hope that we may succeed next time. I’ll take this diary with me.”
“May I look at it?” requested Sandy, holding out his hands.
“What about the treasure?” asked Dick. “What will we do with the chest?”
“Our inspector will attend to that,” answered Wyatt. “Probably will be removed to the new Bank of Commerce, just recently established here.”
“There are two likely places, where one might find that note-book,” mused Rand, “—at Creel’s and Frischette’s.”
“We can stop at both places on our way back,” suggested Dick.
“A good idea. Then there’s MacGregor’s shack too, I—”
“Listen to this,” interrupted Sandy, waving one arm about excitedly.
In his haste to open it, the diary slipped from his trembling fingers and fell to the floor. Picking it up, he experienced some difficulty in finding the right page again. The others waited impatiently. Finally, Sandy read:
“September 28, 1915.—The first heavy snow of the season has come early this year. Imagine my surprise this morning to wake in a blinding snow storm. It is driving me away from the Crystal Lode. After breakfast, I made haste to set out with my two pack-ponies, and arrived at Carson’s cabin shortly after two. I have always made it a point to stop at Carson’s whenever possible. They are friendly people. Mrs. Carson is an Indian, but exceedingly pleasant and well educated. A cook too! I can’t understand why a couple like that should be afflicted with such hopeless offspring. Their daughter, about fifteen, is vicious, while their son, Reynold, two years older, is a young cutthroat, if ever there was one. This afternoon I found him in my room, quite brazenly going through my things. It caused me to wonder if, after all, Reynold doesn’t know something about that lost note-book. I recall that I stopped here just the day before I discovered it was gone.