The reply came sharply. The men were on the verge of a quarrel, and at a time when they needed to work in harmony. All this had passed in a second, the echo of the noise made by the chair hardly having had time to die away.
“Come, this won’t do—scrapping,” remarked Harrison, in more conciliatory tones. “We’ve got to get busy. Listen and see if you think that racket roused him.”
The men stood still in the darkness, tensely waiting. They did not hear a sound. They did not hear Joe open the front door, close it and run away. This was because they were at the very back of the house, and also because Joe moved very softly. Thinking, as he did, that the deacon had awakened and was coming after him, Joe determined not to betray himself by any sound.
So, having made a noise themselves, the intruders, listening to determine if it had roused the inmates, did not hear Joe’s escape.
“I guess it’s all right,” came from Denton, still whispering.
“We can’t afford to take chances on guessing,” was the remark of his companion. “We’ve got to make sure. We can’t risk being caught, for what we’re going to do is a state-prison offense.”
“How? It is? We’re only taking what we have at least half a right to.”
“Never mind! Wait until we get through.”
“You’re not going to do anything desperate, are you?” asked Denton, and he seemed to fear his bolder and rasher companion.
“Keep still. You’ll see,” was the reply. “Listen for a sound. If we don’t hear any in three minutes we’ll go on and do the job.”