The Boston Post Road upon which it faced was the old post road, but
lately, through this back yard and dumping-ground of the city, had
been relaid. It was patrolled only and infrequently by bicycle
policemen. "But this," continued the detective eagerly, "is where
we win out. The road-house is an old farmhouse built over, with the
barns changed into garages. They stand on the edge of a wood. It's
about as big as a city block. If we come in through the woods from
the rear, the garages will hide us. Nobody in the house can see us,
but we won't be a hundred yards away. You've only to blow a police
whistle and we'll be with you."
"You mean I ought to go?" said Wharton.
Rumson exclaimed incredulously: "You got to go!"
"It looks to me," objected Bissell, "like a plot to get you there
alone and rap you on the head." "Not with that note inviting him
there," protested Hewitt, "and signed by Earle herself."
"You don't know she signed it?" objected the senator.
"I know her," returned the detective. "I know she's no fool. It's
her place, and she wouldn't let them pull off any rough stuff
there--not against the D. A. anyway"
The D. A. was rereading the note. "Might this be it?" he asked.
"Suppose it's a trick to mix me up in a scandal? You say the place
is disreputable. Suppose they're planning to compromise me just
before election. They've tried it already several times.
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