CHAPTER XVIII
STRANGE VISITORS
Walking jauntily down the path which now, thanks to Bob, was neat and trim, came the two men who had aroused Bob's suspicions on the train, and whom he had followed into the smoking car. They were dressed as they had been then—gray suits, gray ties, socks and hats. The older man was mopping his face with a very white handkerchief, and his shorter companion was looking eagerly up at the house.
"I beg your pardon," said the one with gray hair—Bob remembered that he had been called Fluss—"is this the Saunders home—place, I believe the natives call it?"
He smiled at Betty, showing several gold teeth, and she shrank behind Bob and hid the album under her apron.
"Yes," answered Bob civilly. "This is the Saunders farm."
"We'd like to see," the younger man spoke crisply and consulted a small leather-bound note-book, "Miss Hope Saunders or her sister, Miss Charity. Please take her our cards."
