“All right,” Grace said grudgingly. “That’s the way we’ll have to do it.”
Ken held his lips against Sandy’s ear, while the men outside were tugging the bracing timber away from the door.
“Help cover for me if we get a chance, and I’ll try to scribble something on the bills,” he whispered.
“Right.”
A few moments later, in the beam of a flashlight and under three watchful pairs of eyes and three guns, the boys were rubbing at their loosened hands, trying to revive feeling in the numbed fingers.
“Never mind the calisthenics,” Grace ordered. “Get going. Barrack, you go ahead of them.”
Upstairs, in the kitchen, Grace spoke again briefly.
“I’m afraid we’re going to have to inconvenience you for a while,” he said with a pretense at politeness. “It’s your own fault for sticking your noses into something that’s not your business. But the inconvenience will be temporary if you behave yourselves.”
“But make one move,” Barrack added, gesturing with his gun, “and you’ll be worse than inconvenienced.”
“Follow him,” Grace then ordered the boys, indicating Barrack.