“It’s the old homestead, out Fordham way,” said Archer. “Colonel Barker grew up there and still spends part of each summer on the old place. It is outside of the town and somewhat isolated. Nearly all of his family are entombed in the old cemetery in that section.” “Has Deland, or Vaughn, ever been out there?” Nick inquired. “I think not, though we have talked of the place. There is nothing more I can tell you.” “I wish to see that forged letter,” said Nick. “I will call at your Broadway office to-morrow morning.” “Very well.” “I then will go with you to the Barker residence.” Nick’s face wore a frown when he hung up the receiver. He was thinking, not of what he had just heard, but of the stolen Strickland treasures. “The rascals may have taken them to that old homestead,” he muttered, gazing intently at his desk. “Still, there would have been that same danger that the undertaker’s wagon would be seen. The only really consistent place to which they could have driven it is a graveyard. But that, on the other hand, in view of its contents, seems utterly absurd and----” Nick stopped short. His eyes suddenly lighted. He was hit with an idea that had not occurred to him before. “Entombed out there!” he muttered. “A tomb! By Jove, that may call the turn.” Nick seized the telephone again and got the Fordham telephone exchange. He learned after a few inquiries just where the old Barker place was located, and that the sexton of the cemetery mentioned was one Jason Dexter. “He has a telephone in his house,” said the operator. “I will connect you with him.” “Do so, please,” Nick directed, then waited until he heard the sexton’s voice. “Hello!” “Is that you, Mr. Dexter?” “Yes.” “This is Mr. Vaughn talking--Gerald Vaughn,” said Nick, proceeding in a roundabout way to get the information he wanted. “Oh, yes, I remember you,” Dexter returned. “What can I do for you?” “Nothing whatever. I merely want to thank you again for having opened the Barker tomb for me this morning, and for your kind attentions.” “Well, well, that is quite needless, Mr. Vaughn, I assure you. My duties require no less of me.” “I wanted to thank you again, nevertheless, and I feel very grateful. Good night, sir.” Nick did not wait for an answer. He hung up the receiver, shouted to Joseph, the butler, and then hastened to don a woolen cap and a thick reefer, into the pockets of which he thrust three revolvers. “Have Danny here with the touring car as soon as possible,” he commanded, when Joseph appeared at the office door. The touring car, with Danny Maloney at the wheel, was at the curbing outside five minutes later. Thirty minutes later it stood in front of the small wooden dwelling in which Jason Dexter resided, a few hundred yards from the old rural cemetery of which he had charge. One of the front rooms was lighted, denoting that the sexton still was at home.