Thorneau we went to the tunnel and found just what was supposed to be there, a
cave-in. There weren't any repainted freight cars, no Diesel switcher, not even
any tracks."
"But why did Conroy call Mr. Thorneau?"
"That's easy enough to guess," replied Marquette, as though expecting the
surprised tone of the question. "He wanted to make sure that Mr. Thorneau was at
home. And the answer to that one is that Conroy is going through with his death
threat. Only we won't let him."
The telephone sagged from Chet's numbed hand. Out of a whirl of thoughts
came the real answer to the tunnel situation. He'd missed the right guess, Chet
had. Dorgan's crew were through with highjacking Pyrolac. They had to be,
because they wouldn't have Chet as the goat for future jobs. Last night had
really been the last.
The repaint job was the fooler.
It wasn't being done to switch another lacquer shipment. Crooks were simply
fixing those extra cars to put them back into circulation. Naturally, they
couldn't send out empties that were duplicates of the faked cars still in
transit. So they'd painted them with different names and numbers, probably to
replace the original cars that they'd pressed into service several weeks before.
Tonight, at dusk, the Diesel had probably shoved those cars to the main
line to join a string of other empties. Returning to the tunnel, the compact
switcher had been dismantled and taken away along with a few remaining tracks.
The rock-painted curtain was also a portable proposition, and a real cave-in
simply a matter of knocking loose a few supporting props.
VOICES reached Chet's ears. They were outside the house, the tones of
Thorneau and some friends. About to start for the station, Thorneau was
wondering where he'd left his car keys. Chet could hear the real secretary
saying they must be in the coupe, since the chauffeur had brought it from the
garage. But Thorneau said he'd stop in the study first, to see if they were
there.
It was nice of Thorneau. Actually, he wanted to stop by and learn if Chet
had heard from Marquette. Chet's hand went to his pocket and tightened on the
borrowed gun; then, numbly, his grip relaxed. His last vestige of innocence
would be gone, if he even drew the weapon. To threaten a friend like Thorneau
would be bad enough, but Chet would be letting down an even better friend -
himself.
Flight was the only course and there was an easy way to make it. Spurred to
action, Chet hurried from the study, stepped into the library when Thorneau
appeared, and then kept on his way. Reaching a side door, he saw Thorneau's car
parked where the chauffeur had left it. On the chance that the key was actually
in the ignition lock, Chet made a dash.
The key was there. Chet was turning it when he heard shouts from the
grounds. Men were appearing, brought by the sounds of Chet's mad race across the
noisy gravel. But Chet didn't wait to exchange courtesies. Kicking the starter,
he slapped the car into gear, and was away.
Headlights glaring, Chet whizzed down the driveway and through the gates.
He saw the gatekeeper dart back into his house. The man had started to give a
wave of salute, thinking that Thorneau was in the car, only to find that it
