One of them almost fitted. He could feel the lock give, but it stuck. He was twisting it to and fro, wholly absorbed in the effort, when the front door of the house suddenly, sharply opened and shut again.
Every atom of breath seemed to leave his body. He sat benumbed with fright, as paralyzed as Rockett himself had been, unable to get up, or escape or try to conceal the box. A quick step crossed the dining room; the door opened, and Carroll stepped into the kitchen, surveying Lang smilingly and without surprise.
CHAPTER VI
YUMA OIL
The blood rushed through Lang’s veins again. His face, which had been cold, felt suddenly flaming.
“Just as I expected,” said Carroll. “I see you’ve found his cache. Don’t look like much, does it?”
“So you trailed me out here?” Lang found voice to say.
“Not at all. I didn’t trail you. I was sure you’d be here early this morning. Of course I knew the old man passed some kind of tip to you. That was why I was so careful to tell you just how to find the house. Didn’t have any trouble, did you?”
Lang had a humiliating consciousness that he had been played with, and he kept angrily silent.
“Let’s have a look at it,” Carroll continued, coming to the table. “Keys won’t open it? Let me try.”
He fumbled with the lock for half a minute and gave it up. Searching about the kitchen he found a heavy steel screw driver, and by inserting the blade at the back he was able to break a hinge. The other followed, and the lid swung open, still held by the lock.