"The dog warned them. He's just got away," said each officer to himself. "She's too calm."
She scooped up a spoonful of the fruit, peered at it critically, splashed it back into the bubbling pot. From her manner it appeared the most natural thing in the world to be canning peaches at midnight on the top of South Mountain in the presence of officers of the State Police.
"My husband's gone to Baltimore," she vouchsafed at her easy leisure.
"Let's have a look in the cellar," said Merryfield, and dropped down the cellar stairs with Hallisey at his heels. Together they ransacked the little cave to a conclusion. During the process, Merryfield conceived an idea.
"Hallisey," he murmured, "what would you think of my staying down here, while you and Smith go off talking as though we were all together? She might say something to the children, when she believes we're gone, and I could hear every word through that thin floor."
"We'll do it!" Hallisey answered, beneath his voice. Then, shouting:—
"Come on, Smith! Let's get away from this; no use wasting time here!"
And in another moment Smith and Hallisey were crashing up the mountain-side, calling out: "Hi, there! Merryfield—Oh! Merryfield, wait for us!"—as if their comrade had outstripped them on the trail.
Merryfield had made use of the noise of their departure to establish himself in a tenable position under the widest crack in the floor. Now he held himself motionless, subduing even his breath.
One—two—three minutes of dead silence. Then came the timorous half-whisper of a frightened child: