So we got rid of the detective. But matters did not readily settle down again into their old relations. The Colonel was irritable¹, and Rad was moody² and sullen³. He showed no tendency to confide⁴ in me as to the truth about the ha'nt, and I did not probe the matter further. In a day or so he brought me three hundred dollars, to cover the amount I had loaned him, together with the "blackmail," as he insisted upon calling it. The money, he informed me, was from the proceeds of the bonds he had sold. He showed me at the same time several letters from his brokers⁵ establishing beyond a doubt that the story he had told was true. As to the stolen bonds, their whereabouts was as much a mystery as ever, and Rad appeared to take not the slightest interest in the matter. Since the detective had been summoned, he had washed his hands of all responsibility.  
 
I think it was the morning after Clancy's departure that Solomon handed me a pale blue envelope bearing in the upper left-hand corner the device of the Post-Dispatch. I laughed as I ripped it open; I had almost forgotten Terry's existence. It contained a characteristic pencil scrawl⁶ slanting⁷ across a sheet of yellow copy paper.
 
"Arnold Crosby, Esq.,
 
"Turnips⁸ Farm, Pumpkin⁹ Corners, Va.
 
"Dear Sir:
 
"Enclosed please find clipping. Are the facts straight and have the missing bonds turned up? If not, don't you want me to run down and find them for you? Should like to meet an authenticated¹⁰ ghost. Wouldn't be a bad Sunday feature article. Give it my love. Is it a man or lady? Things are also moving nicely in New York—two murders and a child abducted¹¹ in one week.
 
"How are crops?
 
"Yours truly,
 
"T. P.
 
"Wire me if you want me."
 
The clipping was headed, "Spook Cracks Safe," and was a fairly accurate account of the ha'nt and the robbery. It ended with the remark that the mystery was as yet unsolved, but that the best detective talent in the country had been engaged on the case.
 
I tossed the letter to Radnor with a laugh; he had already heard of Terry's connection with the Patterson-Pratt affair.
 
"Perhaps we couldn't do better than to get him down," I suggested; "he's most abnormally keen at ferreting out a mystery that promises any news—if any one can learn the truth about those bonds, he can."
 
"I don't want to know the truth," Radnor growled¹². "I'm sick of the very name of bonds."
 
And this had been his attitude from the moment the detective left. My own insistence¹³ that it was our duty to track down the thief met with nothing but a shrug¹⁴. Another person might have suspected that this apathy¹⁵ only proved his own culpability¹⁶ in the theft, but such a suspicion never for a moment crossed my mind. He was, as he said, sick of the very name of bonds, and with a person of his temperament¹⁷ that ended the matter. Though I did not comprehend his attitude, still I took him at his word. There was something about Rad's straightforward¹⁸ way of looking one in the eye that impelled¹⁹ belief. As I had heard the Colonel boast, a Gaylord could not tell a lie.
 
The things a Gaylord could and could not do, were, I acknowledge, to a Northern ethical²⁰ sense a trifle mystifying. A Gaylord might drink and gamble and fail to pay his debts (not his gambling²¹ debts; his tailor and his grocer); he might be the hero of many doubtful affairs with women; he might in a sudden fit of passion commit a murder—there was more than one killing²² in the family annals—but under no circumstances would his "honah" permit him to tell a lie. The reservation struck me somewhat humorously as an anti-climax. But nevertheless I believed it. When Rad said he knew nothing of the stolen bonds I dismissed the possibility from my mind.
 
Though I was relieved to feel that he was not guilty, still I was worried and nervous over the matter. I felt that it was criminal not to do something, and yet my hands were tied. I could scarcely undertake an investigation²³ myself, for every clue led across the trail of the ha'nt, and that, Rad made it clear, was forbidden ground. The Colonel, meanwhile, was comparatively quiet, as he supposed the detective was still working on the case. I accordingly did nothing, but I kept my eyes open, hoping that something would turn up.
 
Rad's temper was absolutely unbearable²⁴ for the first week after the detective left. The reason had nothing to do with the stolen bonds, but was concerned entirely²⁵ with Polly Mathers's behavior. She barely noticed Rad's existence, so occupied was she with the ecstatic young sheriff. What the trouble was, I did not know, but I suspected that it was the whispered conjectures²⁶ in regard to the ha'nt.
 
I remember one evening in particular that she snubbed him in the face of the entire neighborhood. We had arrived at a party a trifle late to find Polly as usual the center of a laughing group of young men, all clamoring for dances. They widened their circle to admit Rad in a way which tacitly acknowledged his prior claim. He inquired with his most deferential²⁷ bow what dances ............