"Somehow," said Mr. Daddles, "I think we'd better get out of this house."
"So do I," came from all the rest of us, like a chorus.
There was no dispute about it at all. Mr. Daddles and Ed Mason started for the pantry without delay.
"P'r'aps we'd better put back these dishes," whispered Jimmy; "they might find 'em, and that would start 'em after us."
But neither Mr. Daddles nor Ed heard him at all. The latter merely said "Hurry up!" and then disappeared toward the kitchen. It struck me that Jimmy was right, and although I was anxious to get out of the house as quick as possible, it did not seem likely that anything would wake up those policemen for hours to come. So we put the dishes back into the butler's pantry, set back the chairs, and fixed the room, as well as we could, in the way that we had found it. Just as I put out the gas Jimmy slipped the pound-cake into his pocket.
"We might as well have this," he said.
Then we hurried through the kitchen, and into the pantry. The others had left the window open. Jimmy went through it first, and I followed. As I stepped out into the moonlight I felt someone grab my arm. I looked up, expecting to see Mr. Daddles. But it was not he. Instead, I looked into the face of a big man, with a long beard. He had a pitchfork in his other hand. Two other men had Mr. Daddles by the arms, and some others were holding Ed and Jimmy. There seemed to be quite a big crowd of people on that veranda.
CHAPTER VI
WE ARE OFFERED LODGINGS
The man with the pitchfork bent down and squinted in at the window, still holding me tight by the arm.