The car roared on, the dogs barked behind them, and finally they came to the slope leading down into Elmvale. Lights were already twinkling in the valley. But the mills were closed, and even the munition factory seemed deserted.
This time they did not take the Upper Road, but drove through the center of the little hamlet. The stores were open and there were lights in most of the cottages of the workmen. There were lively parties in all the long, barrack-like boarding houses. The town was wide awake.
Torry brought the car to an abrupt stop before the brick office building of the munition works. The place had been a mill before the war. The long, many-windowed buildings behind the offices covered a good deal of ground. There was a high stockade fence about the whole plant. An armed guard stood at the main door when Whistler ran up the steps. The other boys chose to wait in the car for him.
"I want to see Mr. Santley," Whistler said to the guard in khaki.
"The manager? I don't know whether he is here at this hour or not."
"I see lights in the offices yonder. And I have made an appointment with him."
At that moment the bolts of the big door were shoved back and a man looked out. Whistler Morgan did not know the manager of the munition works by sight; but the guard at once said:
"Here's a boy to see you, Mr. Santley."
"What is your name, young man?" asked the manager, eying the boy with interest.
Whistler told him.