Peanut and Art were certainly dirty. They had gone on their expedition the night before without hats, and their hair was full of dust, their faces smeared with it, and their hands almost black from clinging to the dusty trunk rack behind the motor. They both got up, and took off their clothes, shaking clouds of dust out of them. Then they went down to the brook, shivering in the chill morning air (it was full daylight, but the sun was still hidden behind the high eastern wall of Liberty) and washed themselves. When they returned to camp, they found breakfast waiting.
“Well, well, it pays to be a hero,” said Peanut. “Somebody else does the work for you, then.”
“Don’t worry, it won’t happen often, Mr. Modesty,” said Frank. “We were too hungry to wait, that’s all.”
After breakfast they doused their fire, packed up, and went down the road to the Flume House. It was still so early that none of the guests in the old hotel were astir, though servants were about, sweeping the verandas.
Peanut, Art and Rob showed where the rope had been stretched across the road, with a red lantern on it, to stop the escaping motor, and then led the way to the garage. The two watchmen, pistols in hand, were sitting before the door.
“Hello, boys!” the head watchman said. “We still got ’em in there, in the corner room. Sheriff’s coming over from Littleton for ’em as soon as he can get here. You’d better not look at ’em—might make ’em unhappy,” he added to Peanut, who was trying to look in the high window.
Peanut laughed. “We did rather gum their game, didn’t we?”
“You sure did. Here, stand on this chair.”
The boys all took a turn looking in the window. What they saw was two men evidently asleep on a blanket on the floor.
“Don’t seem to trouble ’em much,” said Peanut. “Where’s their car?”