“That’s true,” agreed Honey, “but isn’t it a little—well, dangerous?” “To take in tourists? Lots of people do it,” declared Judy. “I know,” Honey objected, “but I can’t help suspecting you of some secret motive. This isn’t a trap for an escaped federal prisoner, is it? What did you do? Peek at the FBI files?” “Of course not!” Judy was indignant at the suggestion. Like most redheads, she was quick to flare up. But she cooled down just as quickly. “I couldn’t look at them even if I wanted to,” she now informed Honey. “They’re kept at the agency in the Farringdon courthouse. Peter is supposed to work there instead of at home for some reason.” “You couldn’t be the reason, could you?” teased Honey. “Because I’ve helped him solve a few mysteries? Why shouldn’t I?” Judy retorted. “What are FBI wives supposed to do if not help their husbands?” “They help them in other ways,” Honey began. “They stay home and take care of their families. They do secretarial work—” “Not according to Peter,” Judy interrupted. “Oh, I know he calls me his secretary, but I’m not really in the employ of the government the way he is. Sometimes he asks me to type reports on things I already know about, or write a letter. As for taking care of the family, we haven’t any unless you count Blackberry, and cats take care of themselves.” “You do have the house—” “Yes, and I may as well make use of it,” Judy broke in. “This may be exciting—” “Judy,” Honey interrupted, “do you see what I see?” “A car with three men in it! Oh dear! I hadn’t counted on so many!” Judy exclaimed as the car came to a stop beside them. At first both girls were dismayed. Gray eyes met blue ones in a moment of panic. Then Honey recognized one of the men as a customer who had ordered signs to be lettered at the studio in Farringdon where she worked as an artist. “That one won’t want a room,” she whispered. “He lives around here. His name’s Montrose, I think.” “What about the others?” Judy whispered back. For some reason that she could not name, she was suddenly suspicious of them. None of the men introduced themselves. After inquiring briefly about the sign, they piled out of the expensive car they were driving and asked Judy and Honey to show them the house. The two girls started down the road, hardly knowing what to expect. They had crossed Dry Brook and were passing through the beech grove when a sudden rustling of the wind in the trees overhead made them look up. The sky had darkened although it was still early in the day. “It’s weird,” Judy whispered. “See that pinkish haze over there? It makes the sun look red. And the wind sounds—strange.” “It is sort of spooky,” Honey replied. “I think a storm is blowing up.” “We need it,” Judy said. “The ground is too dry. Maybe it’s just dust that makes the sky look pink.” “Pink!” exclaimed Honey. “It looks green in the other direction, and I don’t like it. There’s something unnatural about the weather lately. Haven’t you noticed it yourself?”