As he put the question to himself, Bill Bender, walking rapidly, as if he had come from some distance, and had not dodged round the corner a moment before, suddenly appeared from round the angle of the bank building.
"Good evening, Bill," said Hiram, wondering if his eyes were not playing him some queer tricks; "wasn't that you just went round the corner?"
"Who, me?" blustered Bill. "You need to visit an oculist, young man. I've just come from a visit to my aunt's. It was her birthday, and we had a bully time. Sat up a little too late, though. Good night."
And with a great assumption of easiness, the crony of Jack Curtiss walked rapidly off up the street.
"I guess he's right," mused Hiram, as he hurried on home. "But if that wasn't Bill Bender who walked round that corner it was his ghost, and all the ghosts I ever read about don't wear squeaky boots."
If Hiram had remained he would have had further cause to be suspicious and speculative.
The lad's footsteps had hardly died out down the street before Bill Bender cautiously retraced his way, and, going round to the side street, upon which the steps leading to the armory opened, gave a cautious whistle. In reply a sack was lowered from a window to him by some person invisible above.
Although there was some little light on the Main Street by reason of the moon and the few scattering lamps along the thoroughfare, the spot in which Bill now stood was as black as the proverbial pocket.
"Is the coast all clear?" came down a voice from the window above.
"Yes; but if I hadn't spotted young Hiram Nelson coming down the street and warned you to put out that light, it wouldn't have been," responded Bill in the same cautious tone.