Emerging stealthily from the trees, he quickly glanced about, crossed the path, cut in behind a screen of shrubbery and made his way round the side of the house to the garage. Without hesitation he went forward, pulled the right hand door slightly ajar and slipped in, with Charlie at his heels. The darkness closed in upon them.
“Just a moment, and I’ll be with you,” a cautious voice spoke nearby, and Bill recognized it as Mr. Evans’. The door behind them shut with a slight click, and Bill felt one of his hands caught in a firm grasp.
“Charlie, take Bill’s other hand. We won’t show a light just yet. Come this way.”
They passed on until they came to what Bill decided was a closet in one corner of the garage. He heard Mr. Evans open a door, and at the same time he spoke again.
“Shut the door after you, Charlie, and see that the lock snaps. There are twelve steps down, Bill. Come along—the youngster knows his way from here.”
Bill, still grasping Mr. Evans’ hand, felt for the first step, found it and descended after his guide. On level ground once more, he counted eighty-four paces and two turns in the dark tunnel before he was led up a flight of twenty-two steps at the farther end.
There came a pause, followed by a click. Then he was pulled gently forward and his hand released. He waited; then a leaping shaft of light from a single unshaded lamp disclosed a large and soundly furnished room, with books lining the walls and deep armchairs grouped about. On a table in the center were a large plate of sandwiches, some glasses and several bottles of ginger ale.
“Me for that!” cried Charlie, his face shining in anticipation.
“That boy’s head is in his stomach,” declared Mr. Evans. “But I suppose at his age I was always hungry too. Well, I’m glad to see both of you. I need your help, Bill, because I can’t drag in the police on this matter—at least, not yet. They would spoil everything. Help yourself from the table, lad, before Charlie gobbles all the sandwiches. Then tell me about your trip. Something happen to the car? Or did you think your plane would prove the more useful?”
“Both,” said Bill from the table, where he was pouring himself a glass of ginger ale. Taking a couple of sandwiches, he went over to an armchair and sank back in its comfortable depths. “Your friends, or enemies, or whoever they are,” he went on, munching as he talked, “are quite active around New Canaan. They made things hum for a while, and wrecked your car into the bargain. If their shooting hadn’t been putrid, you’d be minus a son now, Mr. Evans. It’s not my place to criticize, but don’t you think it was pretty risky, sending a boy his age on such a dangerous undertaking?”