With others of the great throng Way left the grounds when the very lame exhibition was over. A good many were growling about "a mighty poor article of ball," and "village hay tossers;" but Phil made no complaint. The game had served one purpose almost as well as the decisive battle of a pennant series could have done. He even laughed, though inwardly, as he overheard Fred Perth say, "Why, there's Way, now!" As if quite by chance Phil was walking past the Roadster as its owner and his friends prepared to turn that lumbering vehicle homeward. Even when Gaines sang out, "Oh, I say! The walking's pretty good!" which comment was plainly meant for his ears, he made no answer beyond a deprecating wave of his hand. Not even did he look around--at that time, but he did assure himself of the direction the Trio took and that their manner was that of unsuspecting confidence. Or perhaps Paul Jones' expression, as Phil told all about it afterward, fits the situation better. "There never was a better case of asleep at the switch," said Paul. And maybe he was right. Was it merely a coincidence that the Trio in the Roadster twice passed Way's home before supper and again just afterward? Once Phil was on the porch. Once he was loitering near the low, green and yellow garage, now so empty and bare but for the workbench and tools of many kinds, and the desk in one corner. Later, when the long June day was over, when the sun had set and the good-night twittering of the birds sounded unusually loud and clear as darkness gathered, Way busied himself inside the shed. The big front doors were wide open, to admit the air, no doubt. All three electric lamps in the small building were burning bright. If Freddy Perth had only known it, in fact, he could have seen from the street that the automobile was not in the home garage at all and that Phil was. He might have saved himself the walk through the dusty alley, and still have made the same report to Gaines and Pickton, the substance of which was that the Thirty was still at Knight & Wilder's and that its owners were at their respective homes. At least Way was for he had seen him. But if Perth or Pickton or Soapy Gaines, himself, or all three, for that matter, had chanced to board a certain limited suburban trolley car an hour later, the same evening, they might have been surprised to discover that although Phil _had_ been at home he was not at home now. And, also, if appearances were not altogether deceptive, that he had no intention of being again at home in the immediate future. For an extra large suitcase was on the floor before him and a motor coat draped the back of his seat. "Round trip?" said the conductor when Phil asked the fare to Littleton. "No, one way," he answered. "Forty cents," the conductor said. "Ain't bad for twenty-five miles. Cheaper'n automobile travel, at that." "Oh, cheaper, possibly," said Phil Way, "but--" CHAPTER IV SAFELY AWAY