But an idea occurred to him now.
“Bob,” said he, “if you like bein’ this kind of a detective, why don’t you go in yourself, instead of sendin’ me? Now, answer me that, will you?”
“It wouldn’t be reg’lar professional like, and then there wouldn’t be no style about it.”
Tom made no reply. In fact there seemed nothing further for him to say; Bob’s answer left no chance for argument.
The two boys now stood opposite Gunwagner’s. Presently a boy with a package in his hand approached the house, and, looking nervously about him, as if he feared he was watched, walked up the stoop and rang the bell three times. He did not see the two young detectives, as they were partially hidden by a big telegraph pole.
After a time the door opened, and he passed in. Bob noticed that it was very dark inside, and wondered why no light shone.
“I couldn’t get in, nohow, if I wanted to,” said Tom, trying to justify himself for his seeming cowardice.
“Does look so,” assented Bob, absentmindedly.
“I wouldn’t like to be a prisoner in there; would you, Bob?”
“No, of course I wouldn’t.”