Part 40 (1/2)

”Guess so,” says I.

”That's why we're after it,” says he. ”Besides,” he says, ”the young Duke's in t-trouble, and a feller that won't help another feller out when he's in t-trouble hain't much good.”

Well, _that_ was so.

Pretty soon it commenced to get dark, and from then the time went slower and slower. Neither of us had a watch, so we couldn't tell what time it was, and we decided to go up on top of the tower to listen if we could hear the town clock in Wicksville. We kept on listening a long time, and then it struck. Eight o'clock, it said, and I would have been willing to bet a minute before that it was ten at least.

”If you wait l-l-long enough,” says Mark, with a grin, ”any l-length of time pa.s.ses by.”

I hadn't ever thought of that before, but you could see right off that it was so. Mark was always discovering new things.

That's how it happened now. We kept on waiting, and after a couple of years the town clock struck ten. Then we waited what we judged was a half an hour.

”Jethro ought to be in b-bed now,” says Mark.

”If he's ever goin',” says I.

”T-take off your shoes,” says Mark, which we both did, and crept down the attic stairs as quiet as a couple of cats. We opened the door into the second-floor hall pretty cautious, and listened. There wasn't a sound. Then we sneaked along the hall to the top of the stairs, and still we didn't hear a thing. I kept wis.h.i.+ng we could hear a good, snorting snore, and then we'd be sure Jethro was out of the way.

After a minute we went down the first-floor stairs, and was just at the bottom and turning toward the back of the house when the front-door bell rang. I 'most jumped out of my skin. We stood stalk still a second, and then we heard a sound in a room at the left like somebody getting up out of a chair.

”Quick!” says Mark, and he grabbed me by the arm and pulled me into a little sort of cubbyhole under the stairs.

And then out came Jethro, as big as life and natural enough to scare the life out of me. He marched right past us so close we could have touched him, and went to the door.

Well, sir, when we heard the man's voice that he let in you could have bought _me_ for a peanut shuck. It was the Man With the Black Gloves.

Mark pinched my arm.

Right then I says to myself that being a newspaper man was all right-if you kept on being one all in a healthy piece-but as for me, I'd rather be something else and safe in bed.

Jethro and the Man With the Black Gloves went right past us and into the library, where they lighted the lamp and left the doors open. The light shone right out into the hall, and they sat down facing the door, looking right out in our direction. We couldn't have moved out of that cubby-hole an inch without being seen. It was a dandy place to be, I don't think!

The worst of it was they talked low so we couldn't hear a word they said, until at last the Man With the Black Gloves sort of raised his voice, angry-like, and says:

”We got to get that kid out of here. Right away.”

That was all we heard, but Mark laid his fingers on my hand and pressed.

I knew what he meant all right. What he meant was it was lucky we heard _that_, and we'd have to get awful busy awful quick.

After a while we made out another thing he said, which was, ”The kid's father's dead. Central America. Months ago. No danger from him.”

Well, we had later news about Big Rock than that. Then Jethro says: ”This Pekoe don't know anythin'. There's nothin' he can tell the boy.”

”But he can snoop around and get suspicious,” says the Man With the Black Gloves, ”and he's no man to fool with-not if he's been a partner of Big Rock Armitage.”

”He wasn't sich a tough proposition to handle,” says Jethro. ”I done it alone.”

”Huh!” says the Man.

”We might go and see what we kin git out of him,” says Jethro.