CHAPTER XXXII
SKY HIGH
In the granary room of the abandoned farmstead, Johnny was being questioned by some very angry men.
“You had the slugs. You can’t deny that!” Volpi exclaimed with an oath. “What have you done with them? Did you drop them in the car? Where are they?”
Johnny was puzzled. What should he say? He might tell them the whole truth, that he had dropped them with his letter into the mail box back there in the city. As far as the bullets went, this would do no harm. They could not possibly return to the mail box and rifle it before the collector arrived and carried the package away. But would not this hasten his own death? Once in possession of the whole truth, they would not hesitate to kill him.
His reply was: “I do not know where the bullets are.”
In this he told the exact truth. For who can tell at what hour mail is collected from street boxes at night? Or is it collected at all between midnight and 6:00 A.M.? Johnny did not know. Perhaps the package still lay in the box. Perhaps by this time it was in a branch post office.
“You don’t know!” The gunman sprang at his throat. A companion pulled him back.
“Not so fast, Mike,” he grumbled. “Plenty of time. He will tell.”
He whispered a few words in Volpi’s ear. Volpi nodded.
The man left the room. Johnny thought he heard him jimmying a window to the house.