garage. If Foster was up against the kind of deal Bud had been up
against, he sure had Bud's sympathy, and he sure would get the
best help Bud was capable of giving him.

The key fitted the lock, and Bud went in, set down his
suitcase, and closed the door after him. It was dark as a pocket
in there, save where a square of grayness betrayed a window. Bud
felt his way to the side of the car, groped to the robe rail,
found a heavy, fringed robe, and curtained the window until he
could see no thread of light anywhere; after which he ventured to
use his flashlight until he had found the switch and turned on
the light.

There was a little side door at the back, and it was fastened
on the inside with a stout hook. Bud thought for a minute, took a
long chance, and let himself out into the yard, closing the door
after him. He walked around the garage to the front and satisfied
himself that the light inside did not show. Then he went around
the back of the house and found that he had not been mistaken
about the light. The house was certainly occupied, and like the
neighboring houses seemed concerned only with the dinner hour of
the inmates. He went back, hooked the little door on the inside,
and began a careful inspection of the car he was to drive.

It was a big, late-modeled touring car, of the kind that sells
for nearly five thousand dollars. Bud's eyes lightened with
satisfaction when he looked at it. There would be pleasure as
well as profit in driving this old girl to Los Angeles, he told
himself. It fairly made his mouth water to look at her standing
there. He got in and slid behind the wheel and fingered the gear