“I mean this way: We could go to Crumville and you could watch your chance, and when the coast was clear you could git a rig and drive over to the Basswood house and go in quite excited like and tell ’em that this Mr. Wadsworth was a-want-in’ to see them miniatures right away,––that a very celebrated art critic had called on him, but couldn’t stay long. Wanted to ketch a train and all that. You could tell ’em that Mr. Wadsworth had sent you to git the miniatures, and that he had said that he would return ’em jest as soon as the 122 critic had looked ’em over. Do you ketch the idee?” and Tim Crapsey looked narrowly at his companion.
“It might work, although I’d be running a big risk,” said Ward Porton, slowly. Yet his eyes gleamed in satisfaction over the thought. “But you forgot one thing, Tim: We are snowbound here, and we can’t get away any quicker than they can.”
“That’s where you’re mistaken, Port––I mean Mr. Jones,” Crapsey checked himself hastily. “I heard some folks downstairs talkin’ about going over to Pepsico to ketch the one o’clock train. That goes through Crumville, and if we could ketch it we’d be in that town long before mornin’. We could fix up some story about the others bein’ left behind here, and Dave Porter comin’ home alone. They can’t send any telephone message, for the wires are down, and I don’t know of any telegraph office here where they could send a message that way.”
“If we were going to try it we’d have to hustle,” announced Ward Porton. “And it’s a fierce risk, let me tell you that,––first, trying to get to the railroad station, and then trying to bluff Mr. and Mrs. Basswood into thinking I am Dave Porter. You must remember that since I got those things in Porter’s name at those stores, the whole crowd are on their guard.”
“Well, you can’t gain anything in this world without takin’ chances,” retorted Tim Crapsey. “If I looked like that feller I’d take the chance in a minute. Why, jest see what we could make out of it! If you can git your hands on those miniatures, I’ll take care of the rest of it and we can split fifty-fifty on what we git out of the deal.”
Ward Porton mused for a moment while Tim Crapsey eyed him closely. Then the former moving-picture actor leaped softly to his feet.
“I’ll do it, Tim!” he cried in a low voice. “Come ahead––let us get out of this hotel just as soon as possible. And on the way downstairs I’ll see if I can’t lift that cap and overcoat.”