A mile further on a splendid house came into view. Everything about it spelled prosperity—its barns, and silos and windmills and fences all showed that the residents believed in having what they needed and had money to spend on their needs. The bait was irresistible. Mr. Jervice stopped his car at the side of the road, clambered down from his seat and went to lift the bars from the rear door.
Two boys on a motorcycle ditched their wheel a hundred yards away and crept cautiously up.
"He's going to the house to try to sell something," whispered Apple. "We must keep him from locking those back doors so we can look inside."
"We sure will," vowed Chick-chick.
Crouching in the bushes at the side of the road their pulses throbbed in great excitement as they observed that the peddler addressed some one inside the car. His tone was low so they did not catch the words, but they heard a mumble and saw his cruel laugh.
"We'll teach him to laugh," whispered Chick-chick.
"But supposing he shuts and locks that rear door before he goes up to the house."
"That's up to us. We'll watch him. If he locks it we must catch him as he goes through that orchard and get the key away."
They watched in great anxiety. Mr. Jervice closed the rear doors of his van and put the heavy bars in their slots, but, secure in the isolation of his surroundings, he did not apply the padlock. Wherein, Mr. Jervice committed a grievous error.
Scarcely was he concealed within the orchard than the two scouts rushed to the car, lifted the bar and swung back the door. There lay their new comrade, helplessly trussed and gagged, faint and weary with the close confinement, almost ready to collapse.