“It must be a lonely job, guarding such a place,” said our hero, as he and his chum resumed their walk. “But I suppose it suits Tony Wells, and he is glad to get the money it brings in.”
“They must have a lot of valuable jewelry there, Dave.”
“Oh, yes, they have. But it is all locked up in the safes at night.” Dave thought of the Carwith diamonds, but remembered his promise not to mention them to anybody.
As the boys turned another corner they came face to face with a fat man, who was struggling along through the snow carrying two heavy bundles.
“Hello!” cried Dave. “How are you, Mr. Rowell?”
“Bless me if it isn’t Dave Porter!” cried Amos Rowell, who was a local druggist. “Out rather late, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“So am I. Had to visit some sick folks and I’m carrying home some of their washing. Goodnight!” and the druggist turned down one road and Dave and Roger took the other.
Inside of five minutes more our hero and his chum were at the entrance to the Wadsworth mansion. Just as they were mounting the steps, and Dave was feeling in his pocket for his key, a strange rumble reached their ears.
“What was that?” asked the senator’s son.