Then the vision was gone. The silver fox stood silently in its place, head bent forward. Jim Drake suffered all the emotions of a man about to go mad. He knew it was all a crazy dream, and yet.... Last night he had been drunk. Now, here in the harsh light of late afternoon it had been so real.
Hurried footsteps crunched loudly on the tar walk. He slipped quickly out of sight into the brush that grew beside the fox cage. Feeling like a fool, Jim waited. The heavy slouching figure of George Lardner heaved into sight. One of the keepers, trimly uniformed, was at his side. They stopped before the cage and engaged in hurried conversation. The keeper nodded several times and Lardner passed him a bill.
"Tonight," Drake heard him say in a low voice. "Make sure it's unlocked."
They were gone up the little incline when he stepped out on the path once more. Drake had been forced to make a decision.
n spite of his addiction to the bottle, Jim Drake's body was hard and supple as he raced toward the car. Digging around in the trunk he brought out a sharp file. Thank God for Puffy Adams and his early safe cracking days. Returning to the cage he made sure no one was about. The door was a strong affair behind the inner building, hidden on the side of the hill. He started to file hurriedly on the Yale that held the bolt in place.
The fox came toward him and sat down patiently just inside the door. Its eyes never left his face as he worked. The curve of the lock separated and with a quick motion he tossed it from him. The animal came out swiftly as he opened the door. It trotted at his heels and they kept to the underbrush, running toward the car.
Pushing the door open with shaking hands, Drake said, "In—quickly, and stay on the floor."
The beautiful animal leaped and settled close to the floor boards. Drake rounded the car and in a minute they were purring swiftly toward the main highway.