CHAPTER XXIII.
THE WATCHERS MAKE THEMSELVES SCARCE.
When Cray and Gordon first came within sight of No. 31 Floral Avenue there were lights in some of the upper windows, but before they had reached a point opposite the house, the lights went out.
“Mrs. Simpson is just going to bed,” announced Cray. “Good enough! Glad to see she isn’t a night owl. Thought of that, but was afraid to pile on any more injunctions.”
They passed the house and continued along the road toward the brow of the hill, then turned about and paced slowly back. There were lights in some of the other houses, and Green Eye could see that Cray had been right in saying that there were no other windows to overlook Simpson’s rear yard and garage.
“Like to see the wheel tracks?” asked Cray, just before they reached the house again. “Safe enough, I guess, if she isn’t snooping around.”
Gordon shook his head. “I’d like to have a look at them myself,” he answered, “but we’d better wait for a while and give the woman a chance to quiet down. She may be peering out of those back windows for all she’s worth at this very moment, you know. What you said was enough to arouse any woman’s curiosity, and she’s probably imagining all sorts of things. I don’t believe she’s in touch with her husband, and even if she were, it’s unlikely that she could get word to him. Still, you never know what a panicky woman is going to do. She has no man to fall back upon now, remember, and if she saw us lurking about, she might call up the police.”
“Well, what if she did?” demanded Cray. “We haven’t anything to be afraid of at their hands.”
Having once been a police detective himself, he often found it hard to sympathize with his companion’s attitude, which was that of most private detectives.
“That’s a foolish question, Jack,” Green Eye returned, copying one of Nick Carter’s gentle rebukes. “We’re not down in the city now, remember. We’ll be up against some country officers, who might yank us off to the lockup before we had a chance to explain. While we were gone, what if Simpson should appear on the scene? Where would our plans be then?”
“That’s right, too,” Cray agreed ruefully. “Might get away and not turn up again. Take it all back, Mr. Carter. We can wait for a while—long enough for Mrs. Simpson to get tired if she’s on the watch—and still have time to look about a bit, with the help of our flash lights, before midnight. Not much chance that Simpy will show up before then.”