“That’s just it, Uncle David. A shabby old car with a pip of a motor. What for? A quick getaway?”
The doctor whistled softly under his breath, and said nothing. Through the black, moonless night Lady led them at her fast pace to an opening in the reeds and out upon planking that led to the boats. Joe got in first, steadied the craft, and helped in his uncle. The boy rowed with an almost soundless stroke, and presently shipped the oars and dropped anchor. And then they waited for the catfish to bite.
Joe marked Main street by a reflected ribbon of radiance thrown against the night sky. Water lapped against the boat, and moving lights crawled across the distant toll-bridge. Dr. Stone said, “Not much action, Joe,” and the headlights of a car swept toward the lake. They stopped near the planking and snapped out. By and by oars creaked and splashed loudly, a dark shape moved toward the toll-bridge, and voices came across the water.
“Why the toll-bridge, Rog?” the sharp voice asked.
“Use your head,” the genial voice answered. “There’s plenty of light down there. Somebody may see us trying to haul in a big one.”
“You’re sure of the time?”
“We got the word, didn’t we?”
“Fast work,” the sharp voice said dubiously.
“Well, why not?” A genial chuckle came across the water. “Everybody knows you couldn’t get a decent fish out of this lake with a dragnet. So we pull out.”
The oars splashed and creaked, and the sharp voice was lost. And then the genial voice came again: