“Rumley is not an all night town,” remarked Mrs. Sage from the back seat. “It used to go to bed en masse at nine o’clock. I daresay the movies keep them up later than prayer-meeting did in the old days.”
“I don’t mind saying to you all that there was a lot of ugly talk earlier in the evening,” said Sammy uneasily. “A lot of nasty talk. I didn’t tell Oliver, but I heard more than one man say he ought to be strung up.”
“Oh, Sammy, do you think—” began Jane, in a sudden agony of alarm.
“Nonsense!” cried the minister, instantly sensing her fear. “Such things don’t happen in these days and in this part of the country. The people will let the law take its course. Have no fear on that score.”
“Well, anyhow, it looks mighty queer to me,” said Sammy, tactlessly shaking his head. “I don’t like this awful stillness. It isn’t like this even on ordinary nights.”
Jane clutched Lansing’s arm and shook it violently.
“Doctor Lansing,” she cried, “we must return to Oliver’s house immediately. He will have to come over to our house—Better still, Sammy, you must drive him up to the city. To-night. At once. I am frightened. Something terrible is afoot. I know it. I feel it. It is so still. Look! Why aren’t the street lamps in Maple Avenue lighted? It is as dark as—”
“By jingo, Lansing!” exclaimed Sammy, starting up from his seat to peer over the windshield. “See that? Men running across Maple Avenue. ’Way up yonder where that arc light is at Fiddler Street. Three or four men. Didn’t you see them?”
“We must beat it back to Oliver’s,” half shouted Lansing, excitedly.
“Take the women home first,” ordered Sammy, “and then come back. I’ll go on ahead.”