With a shrug of his shoulders, the Texan likened the place to a tomb, and they walked forward and beat a resounding blow upon the door.
It was opened almost instantly, and Scott Randolph stood smiling on the threshold, his slim figure silhouetted against the blaze of light which streamed from the hall behind him.
“You’re on time to the minute,” he said briskly. “Come in and make yourselves at home.”
Blinking in the glare of light, which was as grateful as it was unexpected, Dick and Brad stepped into the hall. Randolph swiftly clanged the door to behind them and shot the bolt.
“Where did you leave your car?” he asked, turning to them. “I assume that you came in one.”
“Out on the trail,” Dick answered. “I reckon it’s safe, isn’t it?”
The older man laughed.
“Sure thing,” he said. “There’s hardly any one uses the trail after dark. I have a little car which I keep in a shed a couple of miles this side of Duncan, but it’s no pleasure to use it on Bonnet Trail, so I don’t often take the trip in to Denver. Well, what do you think of my castle? Want to look around before dinner?”
The Yale men gave an instant eager assent. The glimpse they had already had of the broad, comfortably furnished hall, with its rugs and pictures and easy-chairs scattered about, all brilliantly lighted by the clusters of electric globes suspended from the ceiling, had amazed them and stimulated their curiosity. Somehow, it was so totally different from what they had expected, that Dick could not help commenting on it.