The night was dark. Along the street an occasional arc lamp spluttered characteristically, but there at the rear of the house it was very lonely and gloomy; nevertheless, the two men threw frequent glances at the Simpson back windows, and their ears were strained all the time to catch the first sounds of approach. Gordon’s examination did not take long. Every mark that he saw served to confirm what Cray had told him, and as the light was switched off the darkness permitted a significant grin of satisfaction. “I see nothing to upset your reasoning, Jack,” he said judicially. “We had better go into the yard, though, and see if there are any new tracks in front of the garage, and then get under cover.” Cray had noted that morning that the hinges of the gate had been very thoroughly oiled, but it seemed best not to put them to the test, but to crawl over the fence at one side, where their own footprints would not be conspicuous. Thereafter, keeping as much as possible in the lee of the little garage, they examined the corner in front of the door. “Nothing new seems to have taken place here,” Cray informed the supposed Nick Carter. “Here’s the one set of tire marks, you see, and nothing more of consequence, not even an obliterated trail. If the stuff was inside the garage this morning, it seems safe enough to say that it’s here still.” As he spoke, he tried the door once more, but found it locked, as it had been that morning. They passed on around the little structure of metal, keeping to the side, away from the house. “There’s the lumber pile I told you about,” Cray announced. “About time to hunt our holes, isn’t it?” His companion agreed, and they made themselves as comfortable as they could beside the pile of boards. Now, however, as Cray had foretold, they were exposed to view from the back of the house, but the only alternative was to take a position which might reveal them to Simpson if he should come, as they counted on his doing. “Let’s hope he shows up, and is considerate enough not to keep us waiting too long,” murmured Gordon. “I’ve seen cozier places than this.” CHAPTER XXIV. REWARDED AT LAST. More than once during the wait that followed, Jack Cray felt compelled to enjoin silence. Under ordinary circumstances, he would not have thought of doing so where Nick Carter—as he believed—was concerned. That night, however, the great detective appeared to be unusually reckless, and Cray, on the other hand, felt an unwonted sense of responsibility and leadership. To be sure, his ally had taken the joy out of life to some extent by arriving at practically the same point through a process of reasoning, but Cray had done all the work, and was quite proud of his achievements; therefore, for once in his life, he felt somewhere near on an equality with Nick, and allowed himself to call Gordon down for incautious remarks now and then.