The fireplace was large, and Matt waited eagerly, expecting results. In a few moments, McGlory reappeared with soot on his hands.
“Not any,” he muttered disappointedly. “There’s a sharp turn in the flue, and the opening isn’t any more’n six inches wide. No getting out by the chimney, pard. I’ll try the window again, and see how careful I can be when I lift it.”
McGlory pushed up the windows with very little noise, but the vigilant guard outside heard him, nevertheless.
“Back in there,” was the gruff order, boomed from the darkness, “or I’ll shake a bullet at ye.”
The cowboy closed the window.
“The galoot out there is right on the job,” said he, and moved to the door.
Bending out a key ring, which he happened to have in his pocket, he contrived a picklock; but no sooner did he begin operations than a voice from the hall ordered him to stop.
“You see how it is, Joe,” whispered Matt. “The best thing for us to do is to lie low for a while. Wait until after Tibbits, Dimmock, and the others are away.”
“They must be away now.”
“I don’t think so. I haven’t heard any motor cars leaving the place; and, besides that, it will take some time for Miss Dimmock and the fellow who’s to play Motor Matt to get ready. Let’s try and get a little sleep, Joe. If we have some rest, we’ll be better able to cope with the situation later.”