"Later," Foster barked. I didn't feel like arguing. I watched in the mirror for a few minutes, wondering where all the cops were tonight. Then I settled down in the padded seat and watched the speedometer eat up the miles.
[CHAPTER III]
It was nearly four-thirty and a tentative grey streak showed through the palm fronds to the east before I broke the silence.
"By the way," I said. "What was the routine with the steel shutters, and the bullet-proof glass in the kitchen, and the handy home-model machine gun covering the front door? Mice bad around the place, are they?"
"Those things were necessary—and more."
"Now that the short hairs along my spine have relaxed," I said, "the whole thing looks pretty silly. We've run far enough now to be able to stop and turn around and stick our tongues out."
"Not yet—not for a long while yet."
"Why don't we just go back home," I went on, "and——"
"No!" Foster said sharply. "I want your word on that, Legion. No matter what—don't ever go near that house again."