“Oh, keep still and come on,” roughly ordered the other. “We are chinning away here like a couple of women. There’s work to be done. Everybody’s asleep, it’s perfectly safe.”
“Where does that lad sleep—Blackford’s son?”
“Upstairs on the top floor, I think. But he isn’t Blackford’s son—only adopted.”
“Think he’ll make any trouble?”
“No. We can take care of him.”
But Joe Strong was then too far off to make any trouble for the intruders. They were now cautiously moving through the house, one of them occasionally flashing a beam from his electric torch to show the way through the rooms.
“Here’s the back parlor,” announced Denton, who seemed to know the plan of the house.
“All right! Now we’ll get busy,” whispered his companion. “Get out your keys. We may have to try a lot of ’em before we find one that fits.”
“And I sure hope we do find one,” murmured Denton. “I don’t want to have to force open the desk. It makes too much noise.”
“You’re right there.”