reply of Mr. Foger, as he stepped back, and opened wider the door. "Andy, these are some friends of yours, are they not?"
"Friends? I guess not!" exclaimed Andy with a sneer. "I won't even speak to them."
"Not much lost," commented Tom with a laugh.
"Search the house!" ordered Mr. Whitford sharply.
"I'll show you around," offered Mr. Foger.
"We can find our way," was the curt rejoinder of the chief agent.
"The place is deserted," went on Mr. Foger. "My son and I are just living here until certain repairs are made, when I am going to make another effort to sell it. "
"Yes, we knew it was being repaired, and that your son was staying here," said Mr. Whitford. "But we did not expect to see you."
"I—er—that is—I came on unexpectedly," said Mr. Foger. "You may look about all you wish. You will find nothing wrong here."
And they did not, strange to say. There was considerable litter in many of the rooms, and in one was Andy's airship in parts. Clearly work was being done on that, and Mr. Dillon's story was confirmed, for tools, with his initials burned in the handles, were lying about.
