“You mean the guy who——”
“Hush!” interrupted Chick. “Never mind about details. We know who we mean without mentioning names.”
“I wasn’t goin’ to mention names, Chick. Jumping Christopher! Don’t you think I know my biz? He’s here, all right. I made sure of that as soon as I got back, and he couldn’t have got away unless he went up a chimney or by aëroplane. You can bet he’s still stowed away in the crib, like a worm in last year’s hickory nut.”
“Well, you can take a walk around the block now, Patsy. There is no reason why you should stay in this moldy hole while I’m investigating. Go and get a breath of fog down by the river. There’s lots of it to-night. But be back in half an hour, in case I hit on something that I can’t handle altogether by myself. Besides, I may want you to telephone the chief or something. Get me?”
“Sure I get you, but I don’t like it,” protested Patsy Garvan. “Why can’t I stay here and lend a hand?”
“Because this part of the work can better be done by one than two. You needn’t be afraid you won’t get your share of the fun. We are going to have a hot time to-night, or I miss my guess.”
“I’ll be here in less than half an hour—a great deal less,” were Patsy’s last words, as he went soundlessly up the steps, in obedience to the orders of his superior officer. “Guess I’ll do a little picket work on my own account,” he added to himself, when he reached the foggy gloom of the street.
As soon as Chick was alone, he stood perfectly still for a few moments, to get his bearings.
First, he closed and bolted the door. Then he reached about in the darkness of the narrow hall until he fumbled against the banister of a flight of stairs leading to the upper part of the house.
“I should like to have a light,” he muttered. “But it wouldn’t be safe. I could snap on my pocket flash easily enough if I dared to do it. Ah! Here’s a door open. This is the back parlor, looking over the yard. Let’s see what chance there would be for the gang to get away if we should decide to have a raid.”