“Tip!”
He recovered from his daze. A cold horror stole over him.
Potts, their handy man, around there. And no one else. Or—was another inside? More probably, smelling gas, Potts had retreated the way he had come, escaping.
“What are you doing here?” Roger demanded.
“Watching. Grover bid me to.”
“Well, we will soon know. He’s due at ten.”
Roger pretended he had something in his coat pocket.
“You’re covered, Potiphar. Don’t try to escape.”
“Me?” in surprise. “Are you batty?”
“Somebody short-circuited the telescope after seeing me wire to it, to be sure no one got in to attack me. You’d know how to do that!”