“We can pass it on our way home, if we go one block farther down before we turn in at our street.”
“How about the Pearsons?” asked Jane.
“I don’t know where they live. But I think we can get the address from the phone book.”
The girls stepped along at a rapid rate, entirely forgetful of the tennis which had tired Jane so completely a couple of hours ago. In a minute or so they came in sight of the red brick house. It was an ugly place, but it was not run down or dilapidated like Miss Mattie Grant’s. John Grant evidently believed in keeping things in repair.
The house stood next to a vacant lot, and it was enclosed by a wooden fence, which was overgrown with honeysuckle vines. A gravel drive led from the front to the back yard, alongside of this fence, and there were half a dozen large old trees on the lawn.
“We could easily hide there after dark,” muttered Mary Louise. “Climb over that fence back by the garage and sneak up behind those trees to a spot within hearing distance of the porch.”
“I don’t see what good it would do us,” objected Jane.
“It might do us lots of good! Look at that car! That must be Harry Grant’s, judging from Elsie’s description. If his car’s there, he must be home. And if we hear him say anything about spending money, then we can be suspicious. Because, where would he get the money unless he stole his aunt’s?”
Jane nodded her head.
“Yes, I see your logic,” she agreed. “But there isn’t a soul around now, and likely as not there won’t be all evening.”