"Then you had better wait."
"I can't do that," said Bart. "I have a special to deliver, on personal orders from Mr. Leslie, the express superintendent."
Bart consulted his watch. It was five minutes of eleven.
"Only a little over an hour," he reflected. "I want to hustle!"
He saw to it that the recovered package was safely stowed in an inner pocket, and started by the shortest cut he knew from the yards.
Bart did not even pause at the express office, where he had left Colonel Harrington. He ran all the way half across the silent, sleeping town, and never halted until he reached the Haven homestead.
He did not go to the front door, but, well acquainted with the disposition of the household, paused under a rear window, picked up a handful of gravel, threw it against the upper panes, and gave three low but distinct whistling trills.
He could hear a prompt rustling. In less than forty seconds Darry Haven stuck his head out of the window.
"Hello!" he hailed, rubbing his eyes.
"Come down, quick," directed Bart. "Bring Bob, too."