“We going to stay here all night?” Sandy asked, when the cuckoo had struck twelve and then twelve thirty.
Ken answered him with a warning hand on his arm. There were footsteps on the porch steps. Both boys listened intently, every nerve alert. Ken could feel Sandy’s big body tense itself for action.
Carefully they came to their feet. With Sandy in the lead they drifted silently across the carpet, following the path they had cleared for themselves earlier.
There was a fumbling at the outer storm door, which was unlocked as usual.
Ken had one finger ready on the light switch. Sandy was crouched low, ready to pounce.
Metal scratched faintly against metal. Hands worked cautiously at the lock of the inner door. An almost inaudible rattle told them that the mechanism was clicking open. The knob began to turn.
Then the door itself eased slowly open. And suddenly, with an unearthly clatter, the pots and pans rigged above it crashed to the floor, cascading over a figure outlined in the doorway.
As Ken snapped on the light, Sandy leaped forward. His arms circled the intruder, and the two heavy bodies thudded to the floor.
Ken barely had time to notice that Sandy was safely on top when a shout sounded from upstairs.
“Hey! What’s going on?”