There's quite a big yard in the back, with a few scrubby old pear trees,
a double row of mangy box-bushes, and other traces of what must have been
a garden.

In the far corner is a crazy old summer-house with a saggin' roof and the
sides covered with tar paper. There's a door to it, fastened with a big
red padlock.

Standin' on the back porch of the house are two of the help, so I judged.
One is a square-built female with a stupid, heavy face, while the other
is a tall, skinny old girl with narrow-set eyes and a sharp nose.

"Well," says I, "where's your riot?"

"S-s-s-sh!" says he. "They're up to some mischief. One of them is
hiding something under her shawl. Watch."

Sure enough, the skinny one did have her left elbow stuck out, and there
was a bulge in the shawl.

"Looks like a case of emptyin' the ashes," says I.

"Or of placing a bomb," whispers the Lieutenant.

"Mooshwaw!" says I. "Bomb your aunt! What for should they--"

"Look now!" he breaks in. "There!"

They're advancin' in single file, slow and stealthy, and gazin' around
cautious. Mainly they seem to be watchin' the back fire-escapes of the