Well, I don’t mind telling you that my heart was in my throat, sort of, as we crawled like snails from under the bed and tiptoed across the room to the door. The moonlight guided our steps. It revealed, too, the sleeping form of the killer. His back was against the wall and he sort of leaned to one side against a chair. It wouldn’t take much to awaken him, for we realized that he had dropped to sleep by accident. As Scoop had said, there was need for quick work on our part. [[176]]
The bedroom door creaked ever so slightly as we opened it. And at the sound my heart stopped pumping until I had made sure that the sleeper hadn’t been disturbed. I felt safer when we were in the hall. If necessary we could make a run for it now.
In the moonlit lower room we had to pass the open door of the lock tender’s chamber. He would surely see us if he was awake. However, from his deep, even breathing we concluded that he was asleep, too.
We got to the door and slowly turned the key in the lock. I gave a glad sigh when the door swung open. There was nothing between us and positive freedom now.
Scoop paused.
“Jerry,” he whispered hoarsely, “I’ve got to have a drink. My mouth’s on fire.”
I went with him to the kitchen, for, as I have said, I, too, was suffering from burning thirst. And did water ever taste as good to me as it did then! Oh, boy! There was a pan of red apples on the kitchen table. We filled our pockets—that is, Scoop filled his pockets. You must remember that I had no pockets to fill except a small shirt pocket.
While we were in the kitchen Scoop got his [[177]]eyes on the lock tender’s long white nightshirt. It lay on a kitchen chair, where its owner had probably dropped it, after having arrived at the determination to sleep in his clothes.
“ ‘A fair exchange is no robbery,’ ” the leader quoted, handing me the nightshirt. “Take it along, Jerry,” he grinned. “You may need it. And later you can trade even-up with the old gent for your pants.”
I was crazy to get out of the house; and rather than argue with the other about the nightshirt I rolled it up and put it under my arm. But I had no intention of using it. I’d look sweet, I told myself, parading around the landscape in old thing-a-ma-bob’s nightshirt. Nothin’ doin’!