Roger knew that it would be a question of seconds only; and they would then see the approaching creature.
There in the dark it was a tense moment, and a nerve racking one.
Louder, thudding on the floor, with a strange dragging sound at the end of each pause, came the approach.
“Roger—that bag.”
“The shoes, Grover?” in dismay. What was the matter with Grover?
“Quickly. That bag.”
Roger lifted it, and Grover, snatching it, opened the paper sack, dragged out a bulky object, just discernible in the dim light they had from the tell-tale panel.
Roger gasped.
“Boxing gloves!”
“Lights!” snapped Grover; and as Potts, lifting an arm, snapped on the wall switch just above the place his chair occupied, Roger saw his cousin pulling on the padded mitten-like objects.