Presently he put down his pack, went to a window
and, quick and silent as an expert burglar, jimmied the sash. There was
only one sudden, sharp snap of the breaking sash bolt and in a moment
the fellow had vanished within the darkness and Gus distinguished only
the occasional flash of a pocket torch inside.
There was but one thing to do, and that as quickly as possible. The dog
had gone around to lie again on the front veranda. Gus made a bolt for
the rear of the grounds, reached the garage, found an open door, began
softly to push it open and suddenly found himself staring into the
muzzle of a revolver that protruded from the blackness beyond.
"Don't shoot! I'm Gus Grier, Mr. Watchman." The boy was conscious of a
certain unsteadiness in his own voice.
"Oh! An' phwat air yes doin' here?"
"Talk low," said Gus, "but listen first: There's a burglar in the house.
I spotted him some time ago, followed him and saw him get through the
dining-room window. Move fast and he's yours!"
Pat moved fast. He recognized that he had not been up to his duty so far
and he meant to make amends. With Gus following, the boy's nerves on
edge with the possibility that the housebreaker would shoot, the
Irishman, who was no coward, reached the house, entered the basement,
flooded the house with light, alarmed the inmates and in a few minutes
had every avenue of escape guarded, the chauffeur, butler and gardener
coming on the scene, all half dressed and armed.
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