“Don’t worry. He’d try again if he didn’t get us the first time. He must have remembered by now what it was he left in Brentwood. I don’t suppose there’s anything in the refrigerator, is there?” Sandy added thoughtfully as he hung up his coat.
“Probably not,” Ken agreed. “When Dad’s only at home for a day or two he—”
But Sandy had already opened the refrigerator and the expression on his face made it unnecessary for Ken to look inside.
A note pasted to the inner side of the door read, “I figured you’d be hungry before bedtime.”
“Cold ham,” Sandy was chanting, “cheese, milk, oranges....”
“And there’s bread and a pie in the breadbox,” Ken added, peering under the lid.
Sandy rubbed his hands. “Well, what’ll we have for our first course? How about—?”
The sharp sound of the buzzer cut him off. The boys looked at each other in surprise, and Ken shrugged as he walked into the hall to press the button that released the lock on the downstairs door. Sandy was behind him as he opened the apartment door and thrust his head into the hall to listen. They heard the lower door shut, and then the sound of mounting footsteps.
A moment later a slender, neatly dressed man about thirty-five years old rounded the last bend in the stairs and came into view. He smiled at them as he came up the last few steps.
“Holt?” he inquired politely, looking from Sandy to Ken.