“If anyone rushes the door,” he said, amazing the others by the seeming irrelevance of the remark, “you both stand by to fight ’em off. They will be after the diamonds—understand. You hold ’em off and I’ll grab the coffee-pot and run. They will go away without hurting you when they find out the gems are not here. After the row is over I’ll come back.”
“What are you getting at?” demanded Alex.
“You are surely getting ahead of yours truly in the monkey-story record! Who’s going to rush the door?”
“Listen!”
As Clay spoke there was a light step on the deck outside, then a hand crept over the outer surface of the door and came, fumbling, to the knob, which turned a fraction of an inch under their eyes. The lads stood quite still. Clay’s eyes were fixed on the coffee-pot, now standing within reach of his hand on the table. Case and Alex were closer to the door, against which there now came the brushing of wet garments.
“It may be Jule!” Case whispered.
“No, it is someone after the diamonds!” contended Alex.
There was no farther movement at the door, but the boys stood in the old positions, ready for whatever might come.
“What are you going to do with the diamonds?” asked Case.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Clay answered, almost fretfully. “I can’t decide on a thing like that in a second—not right off the handle, you see. I found them, you know, and——”