“Of course you don’t!” said Smith. “You don’t have to! Only one head is needed on a body. I am the head. Do my bidding, you hands and feet, and all will be well. Millions, remember; millions, and one-fourth to be divided amongst you. I am going,” he said, abruptly dismissing the topic. “Come!”
He rose, and before Lawrence could gather himself for the shock of discovery, the group, led by the rattlesnake, passed out the big door of the hangar, and Lawrence heard the lock snap loudly.
CHAPTER VI
Lawrence could scarcely credit his good fortune. After a little he tried to change his position, and found that he was so cramped that he could scarcely move. Carefully he took his pocket flash out of his pocket and, turning it around, acquainted himself with the position of the doors. He also saw the cigarette which the Rattlesnake, as Lawrence henceforth called “Mr. Smith,” had dropped, and he crawled over and put it in his pocket. Then with the utmost caution he made his way back to the small door which still swung open, and with a smile at the carelessness of the men, he made his way out. He had gone a hundred yards perhaps when a thought struck him, and he retraced his steps. Once more entering the hangar, he approached the machine nearest him, paused beside it for five or ten minutes, passed on to the next where he stood for the same time, and then went to the big dirigible. With a chuckle he waved a hand at the silent aircraft, and for the last time passed through the door. This time he closed it, and finding a spring lock hooked carelessly through a strong staple, he adjusted it and clasped the lock. The hangar was securely fastened. Lawrence judged, and correctly, that when the men returned in the morning each would think that one of the others had closed and locked the small door, and not caring to be caught in so flagrant a piece of carelessness, not one would confess that he had forgotten it.
As for the boy, he sped rapidly back across the country he had traversed earlier in the evening and by great good fortune caught a train to Washington about two minutes after reaching the little station. As no one had seen him arrive, his departure was not noteworthy.
Lawrence was tired out when the train reached Washington, and he thought with dread of the long trolley ride to the Heights, when he happened to remember that he was now able to afford any number of taxis. He stepped into one at the door of the station, and luxuriously giving his street and number, he leaned back and dozed all the way home.
O’Brien was there before him, a worried man.
“Now then,” said he, “where have ye been the while?” He shoved a chair toward Lawrence and offered him a ham sandwich from a paper bag. Lawrence took it eagerly. “You look dead beat and starved and ginnerally tired out. What’s the word?”
“You are going to be mad,” said Lawrence, “because you told me not to do something and I did it.”
“Then consider me frothin’, and tell me what’s what and get it over with. Sure, these fits of temper are bad for me heart.”