There I was, too, on my way back to Old Hickory, figurin’ whether I’d better resign first and report afterwards, or just take my chances that maybe after he’d slept on it he wouldn’t be so keen about seein’ this Captain Killam again.  Then the whole thing hit me on the funnybone.  Haw-haw!  Auntie, the sober old girl with the mixed-pickle disposition, suddenly comin’ to life and pinchin’ Old Hickory’s find while he’s tryin’ to make up his mind whether it’s phony or not.  Auntie, of all people!  More hearty haw-haws.

When I finally does drift into Old Hickory’s private office and he motions me to shut the door, I’m still registerin’ merry thoughts.

“Well?” says he, snappin’ it out crisp.

“You’d never guess,” says I, smotherin’ a chuckle.

“Eh?” says he, shootin’ a puzzled glance at me from under them overhangin’ eyebrows of his.  “Who wants to guess?  What about Captain Killam?”

“That’s just it,” says I.  “He’s flitted.”

“Wha-a-at!” snorts Old Hickory.  “You don’t mean he has gone?”

“Uh-huh!” says I.  “Been lured away.  But say,”—­here I indulges in my most comic open-face movement,—­“who do you suppose did the trick on us?”

Old Hickory stares at me and waves his cigar impatient.  “Go on,” he growls.

“You know Miss Vee’s aunt,” says I, “Mrs. Cornelia Hemmingway?  Well, she’s got him.  Yep!  Just naturally kidnapped him, I expect.  I had my suspicions of her the minute I found the Captain was gone.  So I chases right up there.  She’s out.  The maid admits she went away with a party answerin’ Killam’s description.  I wouldn’t have been sure, though, if I hadn’t found a map of Florida on the lib’ry table and Nunca Secos Key marked on it.  Now, what do you know about that?  Auntie!  Ain’t that rich?”

No hilarity from Old Hickory—­not even one of them cracked concrete smiles of his.  He just sits there glarin’ at me, missin’ the comedy cue altogether.

“Young man,” says he, “just a moment before we get any further off the track.  How did Mrs. Hemmingway happen to learn about Captain Killam?”

“Why,” says I, “she had her ear out while, I was tellin’ Miss Vee.  Would you believe, though, that an old girl like her—­”

“I would,” says he.  “Humorous as it may seem to you, I should credit almost anyone with wanting to dig up several million dollars, if they could find where it was hidden.”

“But—­” I begins.

“Besides Miss Verona and her aunt,” goes on Old Hickory, “how many others have you made acquainted with what I was doing my best to keep a secret?”

“Not a soul,” says I.  “Honest!”

“Temporary paralysis of the tongue, eh?” he asks.  “It’s a wonder you didn’t have it published in the morning papers.  Quite thoughtless of you.  Hah!”

And say; next time I think I have a joke for Old Hickory I’ll go down to Thirty-third Street and try it first on the statue of Horace Greeley.  If he rocks back and forth in his bronze chair and lifts the roof off the L station above, I’ll know it may do to pass on to Mr. Ellins.  Yep!  That’s just the way I feel about it.