“The lights are out,” the boy whispered.
Dr. Stone put away the pipe. “Joe, you’d better run home.”
The boy had not expected this. “But——”
“Sorry, Joe. I can handle this better alone. You might only be in the way. Run along, and I’ll tell you all about it in the morning.”
“But if——”
“No ifs. Lady’s here, and I’ll be perfectly all right. Off, now.”
Without another word the boy trudged away. Once he looked back, and could just distinguish his uncle’s form. Again he looked back, and man and dog were gone. His steps slowed and ceased. He stood listening.
The whippoorwill had ceased to call, and only the chorus of frogs broke the stillness of the night. By and by he moved again, back the way he had come. The sneaks made his progress almost soundless. Had Uncle David told him to wear them so that they could go unnoticed to the pine tree? Why the tree?
Man and dog were gone from where he had left them. The tree lingered in his mind. Avoiding the driveway he crept across the grass. A dark pillar, darker than the night, loomed ahead. It was the tree. He dropped to the ground and, hugging his knees, sat there and was almost afraid to breathe.
There was no moon, and the gloom was filled with subtle alarms. Donovan was probably in a cell, caged and helpless. What would happen to the maid? And why that intangible something that had hung between Uncle David and Harley Kent? He grew cramped and shifted his position. It must be late. Where was his uncle? He strained his eyes toward the tree but could see nothing.