Free The Grub-And-Stakers House a Haunt by Charlotte MacLeod, Alisa Craig Page A

handling these packages. There may be fingerprints that could help to convict yon hypothetical evildoer.”
    “Well, yes, I can see your point,” Dot admitted. “But how would the crook have found the money again? The spot was all grown over, it looked the same as the rest of the field, and there was no sort of marker. Unless the crook was a dowser too,” she added doubtfully.
    Sergeant Mac Vicar shook his head. “I misdoot his intention had been to use a metal detector. This would account for a receptacle so lavishly trimmed with brass.”
    “But why bury the trunk so close to the spring?
    Wouldn’t he have been afraid the water might get in and spoil the money?”
    “Evidently not. The bundles are well sealed, and that canvas covering on the trunk has nae doot been heavily waterproofed. All in all, this was an ideal spot for the clandestine concealment of stolen currency. I wad remind you that, whilst Hunnikers’ Field seems isolated, it is in fact close to the highway that runs behind the Enchanted Mountain and is little populated for some fair distance, hence a good and easy place for a fleeing criminal to park his getaway vehicle undetected after dark and dig out a hiding place for his ill-gotten booty. He wad dootless hae prodded around with a rod or other implement, looking for a relatively soft spot to dig, and found it here where the underground water had kept the soil loose. If he was careful about cutting the sod and rolling it back over the spot after the box was buried, his chance of detection by any casual stroller wad hae been small.”
    “Yes, of course. And nobody ever comes out here much anyway, except when Jim Thompson cuts the hay, and he wouldn’t notice anything that didn’t interfere with the baler. So what are you going to do with the trunk? The bank’s closed for the day by now, though I expect they’d open up for you.”
    “Aye, but I intend to take yon trunk to the Mounted Police, they may have some leads as to where the money came from. They will surely be able to detect any fingerprints on the plastic, as well as to determine whether the bills are indeed genuine or bogus.”
    “I should think there must be fingerprints,” said Dittany, who’d been uncharacteristically silent thus far. “Can you imagine anybody packing up this many bills without having to lick his thumb now and then?”
    From force of habit, Sergeant MacVicar gave her his wee-fatherless-bairn smile. “A point to consider, Dittany lass. Deputy Monk, the two of us should be able to carry the trunk between us easily enough.”
    “I’ll help,” offered one of the diggers, who happened to be Dot Coskoff’s husband, Bill. “I’ve got my car right over there beside the road. I can run you all the way to RCMP headquarters, if you like.”
    “And not come back for two or three hours,” snorted Dot. “I hope everybody else isn’t going to skitter off now that there’s no more buried treasure to dig for.”
    “As do I.” Sergeant MacVicar gave the onlookers an extremely Scottish look and they all slunk back to where they’d dropped their gardening tools.
    Osbert exchanged a glance with Zilla before saying, “Since Bill’s going to take you, Sergeant, I guess you won’t need me, eh. I’ll walk Dittany home, then maybe come back and work some more on the water hole. It ought to be quite a lot deeper if people are going to pump out water for the garden. Happy deputizing, Bill.”
    “Zilla, why don’t you come along and have a cup of tea with us?” said Dittany, easily divining what was afoot.
    “We need to talk to Minerva about that exhibition Mr.
    Glunck wants to set up. And to Arethusa also, if she’s through stuffing scones into Polly James by now. Though I suppose we ought to quit calling him Polly now that he’s dowsed us our spring.”
    “It’s the least we can do,” Zilla agreed. “Another thing we really ought to do is find out whether the water department will cough up a hunk of drainpipe