“But suppose,” ventured Cora, when, after a turn about the big porch, she was about to say good night to her brother, “that man goes back to that graveyard, and spends the night searching for us? We should have left a note, and a light at the door of the big vault.”
“It would do that fellow all sorts of good to spend a night in a graveyard,” returned Jack, “and, for my part, I would like to have the chance to slide a vault door shut on him, and give him an hour or so of silent meditation.”
“You haven’t told me about the detectives,” said Cora, who was standing at the door, reluctant to leave her brother. “What did they actually say, Jack?”
“The detectives!” he repeated vaguely. Then he recalled all about his positive engagement with the two officers—his engagement made to take Cora’s place in the interview. And he had broken his word with Cora!
“Can’t you tell me something they said?” she urged. “I know it is awfully late, and you can give me the details to-morrow, but I am so anxious to hear—just a word or two.”
“Why, I didn’t see them,” he blurted out, finally.
“Didn’t they come?”
“Not while I was—home.”
“Then they must have been delayed—the trolleys from Squaton are so unreliable,” said Cora. “I suppose they got to the house after you had started out? But I am not sorry you didn’t wait for them,” she added with a sigh, “else we might still be in the graveyard.”
“Oh, yes,” Jack put in quickly. “It was a mighty good thing we found you, but the mean part of it was that we lost you. I had no idea of letting you get out of my sight, after we started.”