And that had happened to be Mr. Tubbs.
Happened, I say, for I knew that he had not had the slightest
notion where to look for the grave of Bill Halliwell. This running
to earth of clues was purely an affair of his own picturesque
imagination.
I wondered uneasily what he had made of the uprooted vines--but he
would lay them to the pigs, no doubt. In the countenance of Mr.
Tubbs, flushed and exultant, there was no suspicion that the secret
was not all his own.
Miss Higglesby-Browne had been settling her helmet more firmly upon
her wiry locks. She had a closed umbrella beneath her arm, and she
drew and brandished it like a saber as she took a long stride
forward.
"Mr. Tubbs," she commanded, "lead on!"
But Mr. Tubbs did not lead on. He stood quite still, regarding
Miss Browne with a smile of infinite slyness.
"Oh, no indeed!" he said. "Old H. H. wasn't born yesterday. It
may have struck you that to possess the sole and exclusive
knowledge of the whereabouts of a million or two--ratin' it low--is
some considerable of an asset. And it's one I ain't got the least
idee of partin' with unless for inducements held out."
Aunt Jane gave a faint shriek. I had been silently debating what
my own course should be in the face of this unexpected development.
Suddenly I saw my way quite clear. I would say nothing.
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