“Great Scott! I hope my friend wasn’t scared off! If that fellow was to meet her here at 10.30––why, it’s after that now!”
“Here! Phelan, quick––help me put these covers on the chairs and things. Over there in the corner, back of the chest. He mustn’t know that anybody’s been here. Hurry, man; hurry! we haven’t a second to spare.”
Phelan submitted to the breathless commands as if he were hypnotized, puffing and blowing like a porpoise as he struggled to slip the linen covers over the chairs. Gladwin worked at top speed, too; and just as he was covering the great chest he gave a start and held up his hand.
“Sh!” he whispered. “There’s a motor stopping outside. You go down into the kitchen and be ready to come up if you hear me whistle.”
“But ye’ll promise yez won’t leave the house with them clothes,” gasped Phelan.
“No, no––certainly not. Be quick now––I’ll switch off this light and step out on the balcony. Close that door tight after you and be sure you switch out the lights in the back hall.”
Gladwin only waited for the disappearance of Phelan and the soft closing of the door when he plunged the room into darkness. He could hear the 167 click of a key in the front door lock as he groped his way to the window curtains and pressed back into the semi-circular recess that led out onto a window balcony. As he did so he unlatched the heavily grilled balcony window, drew out his penknife and slit a peephole in the curtain.