“You can find clues in an empty house,” Goggles had declared. “Plenty of them. It doesn’t matter that they’re gone. Left all sorts of clues behind. Take dust, for instance. You get the keys and we’ll go right over there.”
So here they were in the recently deserted bungalow. Here was Goggles industriously collecting dust while Johnny tiptoed softly from room to room, pulling out drawers without a sound and, after peering within, softly closing them again.
“Dust!” he mumbled, “What good is a lot of dust? You’d think—”
He broke off short to stare. In the drawer just before him his eyes took in two objects. One was a small dry battery of an unusual shape. On the end of this was a threaded attachment that apparently just fitted into the small end of the other object. This second object was a funnel-shaped tube a foot long. It was an inch across at one end and three inches at the other. The inside of this tube shone with an unusual brilliancy.
“Queer business!” Johnny murmured. These objects were quickly transferred to the inner pocket of his coat. The drawer was softly closed.
It would seem that he was not a second too soon, for from below came the sound of an opening door, then a gruff voice:
“Well son, you’re cleanin’ the place up a bit.”
The voice sent a chill coursing up Johnny’s spine. It was the voice of a stranger. He was talking to Goggles.
“Yes, I—” Goggles’ answering voice sounded unsteady and weak. “I do this sort of thing quite—quite a lot. Sort of—of dust up a bit.”
“Well now that’s fine!” (It did not sound fine to Johnny.) “But me and my pardners here moved out of this place a short while back. We came here to get a few things we forgot, didn’t we Joe?”