“No; in the morning. It’s only two o’clock now. Go to sleep.”
“But you’re going, Father; they may need you,” Donald offered.
“Yes, and I’ll take you with me.”
It was the mills. One building with the office in part, had been utterly wrecked, another had been partly destroyed and one end was on fire. And while the volunteer department and helpers were valorously extinguishing the flames another explosion occurred that hurt two men and flung some others down, Don amongst them. The boy was uninjured, though the jarring up made him see red. But with a shrewdness beyond his years he kept silent as to what he suspected and his ears were keen to catch the talk going on around him. It seemed to be the idea of one and all that this was the work of German spies.
Presently, from behind some splintered boxes, they found the half-unconscious watchman and resuscitated him, getting him to talk. He had obtained one good look at the miscreants as they ran away.
Don kept an eye open for Clem and as that youth appeared leaping with his father, from a big motor car, he was grabbed and pulled aside.
“Don’t say a word about what we know,” Don whispered. “Here’s a chance for us to get right up on top of everybody. It was those two, Clem.”
“But, look here, Don, Father ought to know—”