“Mine will,” Sandy insisted. He crossed the room to the desk and cautiously prodded among its cubbyholes. “This is what I want—this light adhesive tape.”
Then he led the way to the kitchen where they opened the cupboard door as quietly as possible and lifted out a six-quart kettle and several smaller pans.
“Pie tins,” Sandy whispered. “They make a good clatter.”
“Got them,” Ken murmured.
Using small pieces of tape they fastened several pans over the back door, so lightly that the opening of the door would be sure to pull them from their place.
“If anybody opens this enough even to put a finger in, these things will come down,” Sandy whispered.
“If they don’t come down by their own weight the minute we turn our backs,” Ken added.
“Don’t criticize. A booby trap was your idea,” Sandy reminded him.
By the time the clock struck eleven the front door had been similarly rigged, and the boys were back in their place on the couch.
Stillness settled over the house. A board, creaking by itself in the dry night air, sounded like the noise of a pistol shot. The ticking of the clock at the far end of the room was as clear and distinct as if it were right beside them. When a car passed several blocks away both boys roused out of a near sleep and came to their feet. But after a few seconds of tense waiting they settled down again sheepishly.