Night in a tunnel. What strange life exists here to come creeping boldly about at night. A black bat, snapping his teeth at who knows what insect, goes whirring by. A mouse comes creeping forth to munch some morsel that has fallen from a workman’s lunch box. Two squealing rats go scurrying away.
“Night,” Johnny murmured. “Night, half darkness, bats and rats. And who knows what greater perils?” He shuddered, then hurried on. In his right hand he gripped a large revolver, a relic of one of the raids made by Drew Lane.
“I’d hate to have to fire it,” he murmured. “Wow! What a rumpus it would kick up down here!”
He did not know that ere the night was over he would hear an explosion which would make the sound of his gun seem but the low pop of a pea-shooter.
CHAPTER XIX
A NIGHT’S GRIM BATTLE
Johnny’s journeys on foot that night were long and varied. In the spur leading to the museum there were no lights. He was obliged to depend upon his electric torch. This cast weird shadows. Every now and then he fancied he detected a crouching figure ahead. Each time as he advanced it proved to be only a pile of supplies in a niche in the wall, or a padlocked tool box.
“Probably no one anywhere,” he grumbled to himself. “Great waste of time.”
He was wrong. There was someone.
Coming at last to the end of the museum spur, he examined the elevator carefully. He did not attempt to ascend to the museum as Curlie had done. Instead, he turned and retraced his steps.
On the return journey he did not exercise the caution resorted to on coming to the museum. It did not seem necessary. He was looking for someone who might be in hiding. The person had not been found. It was natural to suppose that on his return he would find no one.