Presently the faint, buzzing sound of the motor began again, and then the vehicle loomed over the top of the fence. Simpson was backing it very slowly and cautiously into the graveled driveway in front of the garage. Now the car—an electric coupé somewhat larger than usual—was in the yard, and part of it was hidden to view beyond the garage. It was backed a few feet farther, and then the subdued humming of the motor abruptly ceased. Again the two watchers heard the driver step out. Now there was a new sound, that of a key being inserted in a lock. The lock clicked audibly in the stillness, after which the door of the garage began to slide aside. Not one of the sounds that had been made thus far could have been heard at a little distance, but not one of them had escaped the keen ears of Cray and Green-eye Gordon. As they anticipated, the man did not push the garage door fully aside, that being unnecessary, owing to the fact that he did not intend to drive the machine in, but only to gain access himself, and to have room enough to carry out what he meant to make away with. The time for action had come at last. After exchanging signals, the two men behind the lumber pile silently straightened up, exercised their cramped limbs in the air, one after the other, and then stole toward the nearest corner of the little structure. Guided by the sounds within, they peered around the corner, and saw that the open door of the coupé was just opposite the door of the garage, and that no more than two or three feet separated them. They had expected Simpson to begin carrying out the stuff at once, and meant to attack him as soon as he had completed his task and save them the trouble of handling the gold. Now, however, it was evident that he was digging. They caught the scrape of his foot on the spade, and a series of faint “swishes,” as spadeful after spadeful of soft soil was thrown aside. It was impossible for the two men to exchange words, but they turned and looked at each other, their faces close together. Plainly, it was necessary for them to wait still longer, if they intended to carry out their original program and let Simpson do the work. The garage in itself had not appealed to him as an altogether safe hiding place, and he had gone to the trouble of burying the loot under the structure. Some minutes passed before Simpson’s spade struck something hard. After more scraping and rasping, the fugitive brought out a box or some similar receptacle, to judge by the sounds. Incidentally its weight was made manifest by the subdued grunts and pants which they heard. A few moments’ rest followed, and then the man awkwardly conveyed the box—or whatever it was—to the door. The watchers saw now that it was a suit case of the stoutest leather, bought, doubtless, for the purpose, but looking considerably the worse for wear, as a result of its burial.