Cray had noted that morning that the hinges of the gate had been very thoroughly oiled, but it seemed best not to put them to the test, but to crawl over the fence at one side, where their own footprints would not be conspicuous.
Thereafter, keeping as much as possible in the lee of the little garage, they examined the corner in front of the door.
“Nothing new seems to have taken place here,” Cray informed the supposed Nick Carter. “Here’s the one set of tire marks, you see, and nothing more of consequence, not even an obliterated trail. If the stuff was inside the garage this morning, it seems safe enough to say that it’s here still.”
As he spoke, he tried the door once more, but found it locked, as it had been that morning. They passed on around the little structure of metal, keeping to the side, away from the house.
“There’s the lumber pile I told you about,” Cray announced. “About time to hunt our holes, isn’t it?”
His companion agreed, and they made themselves as comfortable as they could beside the pile of boards. Now, however, as Cray had foretold, they were exposed to view from the back of the house, but the only alternative was to take a position which might reveal them to Simpson if he should come, as they counted on his doing.
“Let’s hope he shows up, and is considerate enough not to keep us waiting too long,” murmured Gordon. “I’ve seen cozier places than this.”