Everyone came except Neighbor Nicknish.  No one found any treasure. …

Your loving sons,
Rudolph
Leopold
Nickolos.

“Aha!” cried Lazare in a voice as joyous as the lark on the wing.

It was like music to the mice, for they immediately broke into a polka.

The prisoner sat at the rickety table and wrote on the blue paper:

Beloved Family of the House of Lazare,

NOW is the time to plant potatoes in Kalare!

Your loving Father and happy Farmer,
Rudolph Leopold Nickolos Lazare.

At the moment when the pigeon was on his way back to the farm, the dungeon door swung open and there stood Magistrate Miklic.

“Magistrate!” exclaimed Lazare, “You have at long last returned from the other side of the mountain!”

“Yes,” said the magistrate.  “I returned yesterday.  I heard of your plight.  I studied the facts.

When I heard that Neighbor Nicknish was the only one not to dig for treasure,  I knew he was guilty.  He was the only one in all of Kalare who knew the treasure was not buried in your field.”

“I am grateful to you,” said Lazare.