Agnes was opening the door on her side of the car, but Neale said quietly:
“Now, wait a little, both of you. Aggie, you’d spoil everything. And, Sammy, you keep still,” and he tossed that offended youngster back into the front seat.
“Aw, say!” bristled Sammy.
“You’re so bossy, Neale O’Neil,” declared Agnes. “I’d like to know——”
“See here,” interrupted the youth, with his back to the burned house and the barns, “if there should be anybody on watch, it wouldn’t do to let ’em see we’d come here just for the sake of looking into that hay barn.”
“Oh!” observed Agnes, sitting down again.
Neale had opened the hood and made a pretense of fumbling inside.
“You see,” he said, still in a low voice, “I want it to appear that something has happened to our car. Now I’m going to hunt in the tool kit——”
“Whuffor?” demanded Sammy. “I’ll find it for you.”
“You’ll sit where you are,” declared Neale O’Neil sternly. “I’m supposed to be hunting for something I can’t find. Then I’ll go up to that old barn and try to find it. It won’t look right if everybody gets out of the car and goes snooping around.”