“You?” Johnny stared in astonishment.
“Surest thing in the world!”
“Then,” said Johnny, “I’m in luck.”
“Come on over and have a cup of coffee. Got a heavy date with a lady.”
“A lady?”
“Professor’s daughter. Thinking of taking a course in something or other myself,” Curlie bantered. “Come on. Let’s go.”
Seated on lunch counter stools, devouring ham and egg sandwiches and drinking coffee, the one time pals told of their experiences.
Johnny listened in silence to Curlie’s account of his narrow escape, his forced landing, his night wanderings as a messenger boy, his thrilling adventures in the tunnel beneath the city. When he came to the point where he had lost the trail of the one who had snatched the package of rare jewels (if, indeed, the Secret Service man’s statement were correct) he straightened up and put a hand on Curlie’s arm.
“I’ll tell you what I think.” He was in deadly earnest. “That fellow never left the tunnel. Why should he? Finest hiding place in the world. What?”
“No doubt about it. For all that, I think he did leave it.”