He could sense the man’s uncertainty, and was stalling for time. If only Ken, War, Bob and the police would arrive!
“I don’t know what to do with you,” the stranger admitted. “If I let you go, you’d blab about the nitro. I’ve got to move it, but where, I don’t know.”
“Why don’t we talk this over?” Jack suggested. “Maybe we can work out something.”
“Yeah? What? I don’t trust you.” Scowling, the stranger paused as he came to a cemetery bench. He sat down, but kept his automatic trained on the two Scouts who remained standing.
“If you’re afraid to go to the police, why not let us do it for you?” Jack proposed.
The workman looked momentarily interested, but shook his head. “No soap. The nitro would be traced to me. Besides, I may have a use for that soup later on. It’s valuable stuff—too valuable to be thrown away.”
“Dangerous though,” Jack suggested, lowering his hands.
“Keep ’em up,” the stranger ordered sharply. “No tricks!”
Jack continued to talk, though he scarcely heard his own words. From the roadway he had caught the hum of a motor. A police car perhaps? If so, the officers had avoided using a siren, which would have been a dead give-away.
“What was that?” the stranger asked suspiciously.