“We’ll be there, Dave,” said Dunbar, with an assuring nod.
“And back here in thirty minutes,” Margate added, about to go. “Leave me to prepare the way.”
“Gee whiz, but he seems to feel dead sure of it!” thought Patsy, grimly watching him. “It’s dead lucky, too, that the chief has an anchor to the windward. Though one ruse appears to have failed, he may make good with the other.[Pg 32]”
CHAPTER VII.
PETERSON GETS BUSY.
It was after ten o’clock that evening when Margate returned to the Clayton residence. He entered with a key by the way of the side door. A glance at the windows while approaching the stately mansion told him that most of the household were abed.
Margate hung his cap in the side hall and smoothed with his palms his neatly plastered hair, effectively hiding the scar caused by Chick Carter’s bullet many months before. He observed that a dim light was burning in the library. Upon stepping quietly into the main hall, moreover, he discovered the new butler.
Peterson was nodding sleepily in a chair near the main stairway. He started slightly upon hearing the other, then quickly arose, rubbing his eyes and bowing respectfully.
“You need not have waited for me, Peterson,” Margate said pleasantly, pausing and regarding him intently.
“It’s the doors, sir,” said Peterson, explaining.
“The doors?”