"No, I thought we'd wait and see what Professor Snodgrass had planned.
Perhaps he isn't going to that part of California."

"That's so," admitted Bob. "Guess we'll have to wait and find out. I
wish he'd call or write. Have you heard anything more about damages
for our smashed boat, Jerry?"

"No, I saw Mr. Hitter the other day, and he advised me to wait a while
before writing again. Something queer happened while I was in his
office, too."

"What was it'?"

"Well, you remember the man who got off the Boston express that day,
and acted so strange about his boxes of stuff he wanted shipped to the
Pacific coast?"

"Sure," replied Ned and Bob at once.

"Well, through some mistake one of the boxes was left behind. Mr.
Hitter, had it in his office, intending to ship it back to the man,
for it wasn't worth while to send one box away out west, but it fell
and burst partly open. The box was in one corner of the room, and,
while I was there Mr. Hitter's dog went up to it and began sniffing at
it. All at once the dog fell over, just as if he'd been shot. He
stiffened out, and we thought he was dead, from having eaten something
poisoned he found on the floor."

"Was he?"