“That is so,” he admitted.
“They would not have to take it far before they start the engine, then they can get off in it. Nike doesn’t need any warming up—”
“That’s so. Come into your room.” The adults’ own sleeping quarters did not face the rear, so the old barn could not be seen or watched from their windows.
“You must be careful, both of you,” Mrs. Langwell urged anxiously.
“We will.” He had already gotten into his own shoes, which he did not stop to tie, while his wife handed him his bath robe, which was dark colored and warm.
“Come along.” The pair, with Mrs. Langwell following in the distance, proceeded quickly. In a moment they were at the window, and there was no doubting the fact that prowlers of some kind were working to open the door. The light shone in a faint round circle over the lock, and a figure, which looked tall and grotesque, was busy with a tool. So far as they could see, only one person was at the hangar but they were reasonably sure that at least one guard was on duty to warn the robber if necessary.
“I’m going out—.” Mr. Langwell caught her quickly.
“Do nothing of the kind,” he ordered firmly. “Get me that old shotgun out of the closet. Be careful of it.”
“All right.” She flew swiftly to the place where her father stored all sorts of odds and ends, including an ancient double-barreled shotgun which had been one of his treasures when he was a young man. Since the children had grown up it had been kept loaded and both of them had been taught how to handle it without danger. Quickly Roberta took it from its hooks and hurried back to her father.
“Thank you. Stand back.” He rested the long barrel on the sill, the sight trained on the barn, then, without an unnecessary sound, he pulled the trigger, first one, then the other. There was a loud report, followed instantly by a hail of lead which crackled as it spattered over a wide surface.