He took from his portable kit of tools a glazier’s diamond, and cut a square hole in the glass as neatly as if it were his regular business. He pinched the piece of glass with his nimble fingers before it could fall to the floor inside, and had the catch pushed back almost in the same movement. The next moment he was in the kitchen, pistol in hand, while his two assistants also came through.
So far they had not heard a sound in the house. Yet there could be no question that somebody was there, for only just before Patsy Garvan had seen the three men carrying Chick’s bound figure down the yard, to deposit it in the brick tool house.
These three men might have gone out by the front door. But, according to Patsy, the caretaker was still there, because he had come out only a minute before Nick opened the study door. Patsy had watched him from the window, and had seen him go down the yard to look at the outside of the tool house. Then he had sauntered back, lighted a pipe, and gone into the house, smoking, as if he had no intention of moving away—for a while, at all events.
“We’ve got to get that caretaker, first of all,” whispered Nick.
He opened the door of the kitchen that led to the other part of the house, closely followed by his two assistants.
There was a dark hall which seemed to run through to the front door, and the three explorers crept along till they got to another door. When they opened this, they were startled by a rush of sunlight. It gave out upon the little, paved yard in front of the house, with the avenue beyond.
Standing in the yard and leaning over the iron railings, as he puffed at a pipe so strong that it polluted the whole block, was the caretaker. He was enjoying the leisurely panorama of the early morning, apparently with nothing on his mind.
Nick pulled his assistants back to the dark hall, and locked and bolted the door in silence.
“He didn’t see us, and we don’t want him to come in,” he whispered. “We will look through the house. I don’t believe those fellows have gone out. It is my opinion they intended to go out to the tool house later and dispose of you, Chick.”
“Very likely,” assented Chick coolly. “I don’t care what they intended, now that I know they won’t be able to do it. I’m going upstairs.”