“You will have your little joke,” chuckled the old man. “I’m tellin’ you it wasn’t no joking matter with them. They both was bad hit. Mr. Rascomb spoke out sharp to me for the first time since I come to work for him.”
Flash scarcely listened. “I must get to Excelsior City at once!” he said abruptly, cutting Fleur short. “Is there a car here?”
“Mr. Rascomb’s sedan. I’ll fetch it from the garage while you wash up. Want me to lay out some clean clothes and a pair of shoes for you?”
“Never mind. I’ll help myself to what I need. You bring the car. I’m in a big hurry.”
Carrying the lantern with him, Fleur disappeared in the direction of the garage.
The door of the lodge had been left half open. Flash limped to it, but at the threshold he hesitated. He seemed to sense a presence—sinister and very close at hand. Yet he heard nothing.
Shaking off the uncomfortable sensation, he entered the lodge. A light burned in the living room but the other rooms and the entrance hall were dark.
Flash crossed to the bathroom where he switched on a light and washed what grime he could from his hands and face. His hair and eyebrows were singed; a large knob had appeared on his head.
He had changed his clothes, when he heard a slight sound in an adjoining room.
“That you, Fleur?” he called.