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 round that pile of junk they made of Morgan's place."

Peering, he saw the hall of records entry door half open and from it there issued a sound as of someone coming out. "This car was for their getaway," he divined. "They'd have had a driver in it only they had to divide the gang and didn't want to trust too many people," he reasoned, and sank back into the gloom.

Yes, here they came—shuffling feet upon the stone steps and two dark forms blurred against the gray shadow of the building. Once the men were on the turf Henry lost the sound of footsteps and against the shrubbery background their figures were invisible until with startling suddenness their arrival at the car-side was announced by the tumbling of something heavy into the tonneau—heavy, like, for instance, a book of the deeds of Socatullo County.

It came to Henry like a flash that these men must be professional cracksmen and therefore tools only; that if this were a Hornblower enterprise, they and the other gang would report to him somewhere soon and it would be a gratifying piece of detective work to appear at the rendezvous and confront them all. He decided on the instant and twined his wiry form into the tire rack at the back, prepared to enjoy himself.

"Just one darned thing after another," he chuckled happily, as the car started with a jerk and a bump. "The night is still young."

The car was picking up fast and within a minute its springs were bounding wildly, with the tire rack flinging Henry recklessly hither and yon. Gravel was spit into his face, dust clouds enveloped him; he had all he could do to maintain his position, but he managed it and was able to do some thinking beside.