The call had a gruesome sound in the solemn stillness of the woods, and for a moment Dick was sure he was discovered. He made no answer, and the hail was repeated, but with no more success than before.
He was convinced that the fellow was not certain any one was behind him, but was seeking to verify a suspicion he had formed.
Failing of reply, he was quiet a moment longer, when he emitted a low whistle, like the cry of a night bird.
This, too, had to be repeated, but was more successful than in the former instance, for on the second call a reply came from a point farther on, but not far off. Only a few seconds elapsed when some one was heard approaching, and the couple quickly met in the path, not more than twenty feet from where Dick was standing.
They began talking, but at first he could not catch the words, which were uttered in low tones. He therefore stole a little nearer, and heard them distinctly.
“I suppose you have become pretty well acquainted with the country?” was the remark of Jim McGovern.
“Well, there isn’t much to get acquainted with. I went down to the village and took a look around,” replied Wagstaff. “I thought I might run against Bob, but he must have taken another route. I had a little lark on my way home.”
“What was that?”
“I was passing Dick Halliard’s home, when I caught sight of his bicycle leaning against a tree in the front yard, as if it was tired. I thought right away of what Bob told us about that machine, and saw it was the very chance we wanted. It couldn’t have been better. No one was around, and I slipped through the gate, drew the bicycle out onto the road, mounted and rode it down to the path, where, of course, I got off and pushed it in front to this place.”
“Good!” exclaimed the delighted McGovern; “that couldn’t have happened better. Won’t Bob be tickled! You are sure no one saw you bring it away?”