“That’s right. We’ll run the car off on this side lane and wait till it’s late enough for us to start working.”
“Ha! ha!” chuckled the Jap. “We remind me of those funny pills. Work while they sleep, eh, my friend?”
“Well, I hope they sleep,” grunted Dugan, turning off the main road into a rough cart-track. “If they don’t, they are likely to get some pills they don’t like—lead ones.”
“I hope you are too much of an expert not to be able to extract a paper from a country bank without rousing the whole town,” said the Jap uneasily.
“Don’t worry about me, Hashi, old boy. I’ll do the trick with neatness and dispatch, and when I’m at the head of the Japanese Aero Squad we’ll have many a good laugh over this night.”
As he spoke, the car came to a stop, and the two occupants got out and stretched their legs. It appeared that they had ridden a long way and were stiff and cramped.
“Better put out the lights,” said Dugan. As he spoke, he bent over the headlights, and before he extinguished them drew out his watch.
“Eight o’clock,” he muttered. “It’s a long time we’ve got to wait.”
“In the contemplation of great achievements, the hours pass pleasantly,” rejoined the Jap philosophically, clambering back into the car and making himself a snug nest with the blankets and robes. Presently he slept, but Dugan, leaning against the car, gazed with speculative eyes from the hilltop down toward the spot where a faint glow marked the site of the village of Hampton.
“It’s a risky game, Jim Dugan,” he growled to himself, “but you’re playing for the biggest stake that you ever saw.”
But Rob was disappointed in his hopes of getting back early to Hampton. In fact, he encountered a regular chapter of accidents to delay him. In the first place, the man he had come to see was not in, and he had to wait for an hour till he put in an appearance.
In the meantime, he had telephoned to Hampton that he might not be back till late, so that he knew the drill would go on without him, and this helped to make the wait less aggravating.
He set out for home at a good speed, but hardly had he gone two hundred yards beyond the garage he had visited, than “pop!” went a rear tire. By the light of a detached headlight, Rob examined it and found, to his dismay, that he had run over a broken bottle in the darkness and cut through both inner and outer tubes. That meant a long delay, for he knew what country garages were. However, there was no help for it, and, amid jeering cries of “Get a horse” from East Willitson small boys, he summoned help and wheeled the car back to the repair place.