The older man had such a pleasant face that Tom was beginning to feel ashamed of his suspicions, when he suddenly bobbed down in his seat, with a cold chill at his heart. The man was examining something he held in his hand—a thing so small and delicate that at first glance Tom had taken it for a pocket-knife, but it was a pearl-mounted revolver. The full gravity of the situation now forced itself upon his excited mind. This was the Chief Criminal spoken of by his father, the younger man being, of course, the Accomplice. They were handling the very revolver which had been shown during the trial. This man's fierce anger had been excited by his father's vigorous attempt to consign him to merited punishment, and his words fully indicated that he was now on his way to seek revenge. How? Poor Tom fairly writhed in his seat as all the fearful possibilities of the case came before him, and he was obliged to own to himself that but for his petty acts of carelessness these men would now be safe under lock and key.
He left the car, full of the one idea of using any and every means of insuring his father's safety. Hastening to his office, he learned that he had been absent from it most of the day. It was supposed that he had been called out of town again. Reaching home, hoping to find him there, Tom learned that he had not been up to dinner, but was still expected, though it was long after the usual hour. Hot, tired, and anxious, Tom made but a poor attempt at the dinner urged upon him, and took his way to the front part of the house to watch for his father. He established himself on a sofa near a bay-window in the parlor, with a very heavy pressure of care on his heart. He knew it would not do to tell his nervous mother: even poor, heedless Tom was thoughtful of her comfort. And he did not want Frank to know anything about it if he could help it. It might all come out right yet, and then only his father need know.
"Tell him not to hurry—we can wait," said a voice in the room. Tom rubbed his eyes and stared about, as the maid showed in two strangers. He was wide awake in a moment, and drew himself into a corner of the sofa where he was nearly concealed by a curtain which divided the bay-window from the room. The maid drew aside the curtains of another window, and threw it open. And there, in the bright sunlight, Tom saw, with fright and horror, which at first took from him the power to move or speak, the Chief Criminal and the Accomplice seat themselves comfortably in his father's house.
What now? With a desperate effort at self-control he tried to think what it was best to do. It rested on him now not only to insure his father's safety, but to prevent the escape of these men.
He presently got up, and going quietly to a door which led into another room, locked it, and put the key in his pocket. Then he turned to the window near which the men sat. The older one addressed him pleasantly.
"You are a son of Mr. Primrose?" he said, offering his hand.
Tom bowed slightly, but took no notice of the extended hand. He lowered the window and fastened it, hoping that the burglars, if they tried to open it, might not at first understand the catch, thus giving more time. He then passed into the hall, noiselessly locking that door also.
Frank was nursing his sprained foot on the back piazza. In answer to Tom's excited inquiries he told him their father had returned home a short time since, had dined, and gone to his room. His mother was in the kitchen canning fruit. Glad not to meet her, Tom sprang up the stairs, and knocking at his father's door, begged to be let in.
"I am bathing, Tom," was the answer; "wait a little."