It was true—all five of the missing bonds were there, the May first coupons still uncut.
Also the deeds and insurance policy, exactly as they had left the safe, except that they were damp and mud-stained.
I stared for a moment too amazed to speak. Finally, "Where did you find them?" I gasped.
Terry regarded me with a tantalizing laugh.
"Exactly where I thought I'd find them.
Oh, I've been out early this morning!
I saw the sun rise, and breakfasted in Kennisburg at six forty-five.
I'm ready for another breakfast though.
Hurry up and dress.
We've got a day's work before us.
I'm off to the stables to talk 'horses' with Uncle Jake; when you're ready for breakfast send Solomon after me."
"Terry," I implored, "where on the face of the earth did you find those bonds?"
"At the mouth of the passage to hell," said Terry gravely, "but I'm not quite sure myself who put them there."
"Mose?" I queried eagerly.
"It might have been—and it might not." He waved his hand airily and withdrew.
CHAPTER XX POLLY MAKES A CONFESSION
At breakfast Terry drank two cups of coffee and subsided into thought.
I could get no more from him on the subject of the bonds; he was not sure himself, was all the satisfaction he would give.
When the meal was half over, to Solomon's dismay, he suddenly rose without noticing a new dish of chicken livers that had just appeared at his elbow.
"Come on," he said impatiently, "you've had enough to eat.
I've got to see those marks while they're still there.
I'm desperately afraid an earthquake will swallow that cave before I get a chance at them."
Fifteen minutes later we were bowling down the lane behind the fastest pair of horses in the Gaylord stables, and through the prettiest country in the State of Virginia.
Terry sat with his hands in his pockets and his eyes on the dash-board.
As we came to the four corners at the valley-pike I reined in.
"Would you rather go the short way over the mountains by a very rough road, or the long way through Kennisburg?" I inquired.
"What's that?" he asked. "Oh, the short way by all means—but first I want to call at the Mathers's."
"It would simply be a waste of time."
"It won't take long—and since Radnor won't talk I've got to get at the facts from the other end.
Besides, I want to see Polly myself."
"Miss Mathers knows nothing about the matter," said I as stiffly as possible.
"Doesn't she!" said Terry. "She knows a good many things, and it's about time she told them.—At any rate, you must admit that she's the owner of the unfortunate coat that caused the trouble; I want to ask her some questions about that.
Why can't girls learn to carry their own coats?
It would save a lot of trouble."
It ended by my driving, with a very bad grace, to Mathers Hall.
"You wait here until I come out," said Terry, coolly, as I drew up by the stepping stone and commenced fumbling for a hitching strap.
"Not much!" said I. "If you interview Polly Mathers I shall be present at the interview."
"Oh, very well!" he returned resignedly. "If you'd let me go about it my own way, though, I'd get twice as much out of her."
The family were at breakfast, the servant informed me.
I left Terry in the parlor while I went on to the dining-room to explain the object of our visit.
"There is a friend of mine here from New York to help us about the trial"—I thought it best to suppress his real profession—"and he wants to interview Miss Polly in regard to the coat.
I am very sorry—"
"Certainly," said Mrs. Mathers, "Polly is only too glad to help in any way possible."
And to my chagrin Polly excused herself and withdrew to the parlor, while her father kept me listening to a new and not very valuable theory of his in regard to the disappearance of Mose.
It was fifteen minutes before I made my escape and knocked on the parlor door.
I turned the knob and went in without waiting for a summons.
The Mathers's parlor is a long cool dim room with old-fashioned mahogany furniture and jars of roses scattered about.
It was so dark after the bright sunshine of the rest of the house, that for a moment I didn't discover the occupants until the sound of Polly's sobbing proclaimed their whereabouts.
I was somewhat taken aback to find her sitting in a corner of the big horsehair sofa, her head buried in the cushions, while Terry, nonchalantly leaning back in his chair, regarded her with much the expression that he might have worn at a "first night" at the theatre.
It might also be noted that Polly wore a white dress with a big bunch of roses in her belt, that her hair was becomingly rumpled by the cushion, and that she was not crying hard enough to make her eyes red.