Accordingly, they concealed themselves near by and waited impatiently until nearly eleven-thirty, by which time all the houses in the neighborhood were dark.
“Now we’ll do a little exploring,” announced Green Eye. They cautiously skirted Simpson’s property until they reached a point from which they could see that the rear windows were all closed, after which they continued to the rear of the lot.
They remained outside the low fence until they had satisfied themselves that Simpson was not in the vicinity. Having ascertained that, they crept about the corner of the fence, and, lurking in its shadow, approached the wide gate which the fugitive had had cut there.
Cray switched on his flash light, and turned it downward so that it shone upon the footprint he had noted earlier in the day.
“That’s Simpson’s, I’m pretty sure,” he declared. “Got the data of it, anyway. The fellow stood here to open the gate.”
“Show me the tire marks first,” Gordon said.
He was trying to simulate Nick’s thoroughness, but he had a more personal reason as well. He wished to see if the tracks would tell him the same story they had told his companion, because if they did not—well, the stolen gold might prove to be much more elusive than he had hoped, and the sooner he found it out the better.
The night was dark. Along the street an occasional arc lamp spluttered characteristically, but there at the rear of the house it was very lonely and gloomy; nevertheless, the two men threw frequent glances at the Simpson back windows, and their ears were strained all the time to catch the first sounds of approach.
Gordon’s examination did not take long. Every mark that he saw served to confirm what Cray had told him, and as the light was switched off the darkness permitted a significant grin of satisfaction.
“I see nothing to upset your reasoning, Jack,” he said judicially. “We had better go into the yard, though, and see if there are any new tracks in front of the garage, and then get under cover.”