“Ef yo’ll pahdon my sayin’ so, Miss Do’thy,” volunteered Uncle Abe as the car was run into the underbrush beyond the Nearma wall and parked behind a clump of scrub oak and evergreens, “I ’lows as how it sho’ would er bin better ter ’proach de house from de odder side. We could er travelled down Marse Lewis’ place and come in dat-a-way. Dere’s mo’ lan’scapin’ on dat side.”

“Thanks for the suggestion, Uncle,” Dorothy locked the ignition. “But I think we’ll keep just as far away from Mr. Lewis’ property as we can, for the present.”

“Do you think he really is mixed up with J. J. J. in this business?” Bill asked her.

“Can’t say—it certainly looks like it—and we’ll take no unnecessary chances.”

“How about the chances we’ll take in breaking into Nearma?”

“I said unnecessary! Anyway, I’m the one that’s going in there.”

“But look here, Dorothy! Do you think I’m going to let you walk into that place alone?”

“Not alone, old dear. Uncle Abe is coming with me.”

“Oh, is he? And what am I to do while you’re in the house mixing it up with those thugs? Do you expect me to stick out here with the car and see that somebody doesn’t steal the tires?”

Dorothy looked amused. Bill was annoyed with her and she did not blame him. “You’ll have plenty to do, Bill.” She gave his shoulder a good-natured pat and sprang out of the car.

“Come on, both of you. I’ll explain my plan as we go. Lead the way, Uncle Abe. I want to get to the kitchen door without being seen from the house if possible.”

Uncle Abe got out of the car. Bill was already beside her.

“Yo’all foller Ol’ Man River!” said the ancient darky and led into the woods away from the road.

“Well, what’s the dope?” Bill’s tone was less exasperated now, and side by side they swung in behind the old man.

Dorothy took his arm. “I guess you think I’m a brainless idiot,” she began, “with all my wild schemes—”

“Well, I don’t quite see your idea in going in there alone—but it’s your show, so go ahead and explain.”

“Attaboy! Now this is the point. I want to do some scouting inside and I’ll need you to cover me as it were. Uncle Abe knows Joyce’s servants. And Mr. Joyce is looking for you and me. Well, don’t you see, if Uncle Abe brings a stray boy into the kitchen for a bite to eat, it won’t seem anything out of the way. In these clothes, I’ll never be taken for a girl.”

“But you won’t stay in the kitchen—I know you!” Bill was not quite convinced.

“Perhaps not—what I do inside will depend on circumstances as I find ’em.”

“Humph! And what is my important work to consist of?”

“I want you to watch this side of the house. If I need you, I’ll open a window and wave. If it happens to be a window on the ground floor, you can get in that way. If I open a second story window, come in through the kitchen. You’ve got a gun—that ought to be a help.”

“But—suppose you aren’t able to get to a window?”

“Oh, then wait half an hour; when the time’s up run down to Cross River in the car and phone the state police and get them up here just as soon as possible.”

“Why not get them up here now?”

“Because we really haven’t got anything to go on. Chances are they wouldn’t come and I want to be able to pin something good and definite on Mr. John J. Joyce before we get the police on the job.”

Bill seemed impressed by her reasoning. “I guess you’re right. If Stoker and Terry are in Nearma and we can prove it, J. J. J. will have a nice little charge of kidnapping to face.”

“And I want to get him for grand larceny and conspiracy as well,” she returned. “That may sound ambitious, but I want to land that gentleman and his friends on a bunch of counts that will send them to Sing Sing for a very, very long time.”

“You and me both. I don’t know what Joyce’s plans are, but after listening to his bark last night, I’ll bet they’re something pretty rotten. Hello!—There’s Uncle Abe beckoning.”

They caught up with the old darky who was peering through the woods to their right.

“Yonder’s de stone fence, Missy,” he announced, “an’ beyon’ am Marse Joyce’s prop’ty. De house am ’bout fifty yards from de fence.”

“Good. Bill, you go ahead and lay low behind some of the bushes near the house. Uncle Abe and I will be along in a minute.”

“Aye, aye, skipper. Take care of yourself.”

With a wave of his hand he climbed the low stone wall and disappeared into the shrubbery on the Joyce grounds.

Dorothy turned to Ol’ Man River. “I suppose you know the cook over there, Uncle?”

“Oh, yaas, ma’am. Liza an’ me’s bin frien’s fer ten years.”

“That’s fine. Now listen to what I say, because you’ve got your part to play in this affair and there mustn’t be any slipup.”

For several minutes she talked earnestly to the old negro.

“Is that all clear?” she ended presently.

“Yaas, missy. I’ll do what yo’all tells me to—but I ain’t ’zackly hankerin’ fer you to do all dis.”

Dorothy laughed. “Neither am I, Uncle. But it’s just got to be done, you know.”

They climbed the fence as Bill had done and set off in the direction of the house, which soon came into view through the shrubbery and trees. As they drew nearer, Dorothy saw that Nearma was a large white frame house with green shutters in the conventional New England style. A wide veranda ran along the front of the house and on the far side a massive fieldstone chimney broke the expanse of clapboard between the rows of windows. The drive swung round the front of the building and turned sharply to the rear cutting the wide lawn on the near side. The grounds were beautifully landscaped. On a bright summer’s day it must indeed be a lovely spot. Just then it looked bleak and drear in the steady autumn downpour.

They reached the drive without sighting Bill, and followed it to the back of the house. Presently Uncle Abe was knocking on the kitchen door.

His second knock was followed by the sound of footsteps and the door opened to disclose an enormously fat negress whose head was bound with a bright red bandanna. The angry glare on her round black face changed to a delighted grin as she recognized her visitor.

“Lord, lordy,” she exclaimed. “If it ain’t Uncle Abe River hisself. Come in outer de wet. You sure is a sight fer sore eyes. Ain’t seen you nohow fer a month er Sundays!”

Liza bustled her callers through an outer pantry into a spacious kitchen.

“I wuz over ter Cross River,” said Uncle Abe, seating himself in a proffered chair. “An’ you is allus so good an ’commydatin’, Liza, I ’lowed I’d drop in an—”

“Find out whedder Liza would ask you t’ dinner,” chuckled that good natured person. “Reckon you ain’t livin’ so high now’days in dat der cabin.”

“Yo’ sho’ is a good guesser,” grinned Uncle Abe. “But I likes ter see ol’ frien’s an’ I wanted speshul ter ax if Marse Joyce could gimme a spell o’ work rakin’ leaves er sump’n.”

Liza pursed her lips an shook her head vigorously.

“’Tain’t likely dat man’d give you nothin’,” she said darkly. “De goin’s on hyar lately is sure terrubul. Wat wid all dese strange men in de house an’ de young gemmun dey brought in han’cuffed las’ night—an’ right froo dis hyar kitchen too—I’se jes’ ’bout ready ter give notice. But I mustn’t say nothin’! Who is dis hyar boy wid you, Uncle?”

Dorothy made a quick decision. “Not a boy, Auntie—a girl,” she said quietly. “—And a friend of the young man who was brought here last night.”

“Sakes alive!” exploded the stout cook. “Wat’s all dis I’m a-hearin’?”

“Yo’all hearin’ de spittin’ trufe, Liza,” chimed in Uncle Abe earnestly. “Miss Do’thy am de qual’ty. Jes’ yo’ listen ter wat she say.”

Dorothy waited for no more comment. With a few deft word strokes she painted a vivid picture of last evening’s happenings at the Conway house. Then having aroused a wide-eyed interest in her story, she went on to tell of the adventure in Uncle Abe’s cabin and the morning’s experiences.

“I am not trying to make trouble between you and Mr. Joyce,” she ended, “but if you will help me to free that young gentleman—he must be either George or Terry—you’ll be doing a very fine thing and my father will see you come to no harm.”

“I’se ’spected fo’ some time Marse Joyce wuz er bad man,” said Liza, “but I ain’t askeert of him. Wat you want I should do, Miss Do’thy?”

“I just want you to tell me some things, Liza. Then you go on getting dinner and I’ll see what I can do for my friend.”

“Hadn’t I better call in Marse Bill?”

“No, not yet. If anything goes wrong in the house I want to have someone on the outside to phone for the police.” She turned to Liza. “Do you know where Mr. Joyce and his men are now?”

“Yes, ma’am. Marse Joyce an’ most of ’em done gone somewheres in de big car—left de house ’bout ’n hour ago.”

“How many are still here?”

“Two o’ dose no-count white men is somewhere in de front part of de house. An’ let me tell yo’all if dat white trash comes a-bustin’ inter my kitchen agin, dey a-gwine ter git a rollin’ pin bounced offen dere skulls!”

“If you can’t do it, Liza—I will—” added Uncle Abe.

“Ho—how come I can’t do it, Abe? You jes’ watch dis pickaninny. I’ll bust ’em an’ bust ’em good!”

Dorothy giggled. Liza’s description of herself as a pickaninny had upset her gravity for the moment.

“I can see you’re both going to be useful. But tell me, Auntie—do you know where they’re keeping this young man?”

“He’s in de blue room, Missy. I done tote up his breakfas’ to de do’. Marse Joyce give de odder two girls de day off, so I’se cook an’ waitress an’ chambermaid today. You run along, Miss Do’thy an’ if dose cheap ivory rollers try ter git fresh—jes’ holler fo’ Aunt Liza—she’ll bust ’em!”

Dorothy had started for the pantry when Uncle Abe sprang out of his chair and caught her arm.

“’Scuse me, Missy,” he apologized then went on eagerly—“I’se got er idee.”

“Yes? What is it, Uncle?”

“Dey’s logs an’ dey’s kindlin’ in der entry, missy. I done seen ’em when we come in. Well, Miss Do’thy, you tote some kindlin’—an’ I’ll carry a couple er logs an’—”

“Fine! We’ll do it!” Dorothy’s alert mind had grasped the plan before Uncle Abe’s tongue could give utterance to it.

“An’ de bes’ part of it is, honey,” grinned Liza, “dat all de rooms on dis flo’ has fireplaces an’ mos’ of dem upstairs too. Marse Joyce, he’s a crank on open fires.”

Dorothy chuckled. “Lucky break for us.” She took a small armful of kindling that Uncle Abe held out to her.

“Yo’all better foller me,” said the old darky, “I knows de way ’bout dis house, Miss Do’thy.”

He pushed open a swinging door and they slipped into a dining room, panelled in white pine. It was an attractive room and Dorothy decided that despite his criminal traits, John J. Joyce was a man of taste. Uncle Abe tiptoed across the room and paused in the doorway to the hall.

“We better see who’s downstairs befo’ we goes up,” he whispered, and trotted off along the corridor.

He stopped at a closed door near the foot of the staircase and lifted his hand to knock. But before his knuckles had touched the panel, the heavy oak swung inward and they were confronted by the prizefighter whom Dorothy had last seen heating a poker in the Conway house.

“’Scuse us, suh. We’se bringin’ wood fo’ de fire.”

The big man glared at them for a moment. Then apparently satisfied, he stepped aside. “O.K. Thought I heard someone snoopin’ around. Dump those logs in the box and then get out.”

He paid no more attention to them. Slouching stiffly in a big chair before the fire, he became immediately engrossed in the Sunday paper.

Uncle Abe dropped the logs into the woodbox, and Dorothy knelt on the hearth and piled her kindling beside it. In rising to her feet her head brushed Uncle Abe’s arm, knocking off the soft felt hat Bill had loaned her. Quick as a flash she retrieved it and thrust it back on her head.

“A boy with a girl’s bob!”

Dorothy turned sharply and found herself staring into the muzzle of an automatic.

“Stand right where you are,” barked the big man, as he got up out of his chair. “And you too, dinge—” The revolver swerved for a second in Abe’s direction. “Ol’ Man River and the girl, of course—we expected you to show up. The laugh’s on you, all right. Where’s your boy friend?”

“Right here!” Bill Bolton stepped from behind the heavy window draperies, his revolver trained on the gangster’s stomach. “Drop that gun—drop it, or I’ll drill you!” Then as the automatic crashed to the floor, a smile spread over his tanned face. “And this time the laugh is on you, my friend,” he added softly.

“Oh, yeah?” came a rasping voice from the hall doorway. “You drop your rod, bo’—and stick ’em up! Don’t move—you’re covered. Now laugh that one off—ha-ha!”

Bill’s gun fell to the floor and his hands rose slowly upwards. In the doorway stood the bald man—the other member that Dorothy had spied on in the library of the Conway house.