CHAPTER IX.
A WEIRD STATE OF AFFAIRSClancy regained the rear of the garage by the same devious course he had taken in leaving it. All was dark and silent within the little room.
“Jimmie!” he whispered, thrusting his head through the window.
There was no answer, and he repeated the call as loudly as he dared. Still there was no response from Fortune.
“He’s sleeping like a log,” thought Clancy. “I’ll have to get in and give him a shaking.”
With great care, he climbed through the window, groped his way through the dark to the bed, and laid both hands on the blanketed form.
“Jimmie!” he muttered, and shook the form briskly.
A stifled gurgle came from Jimmie, but no words which Owen could understand. In some alarm, the red-headed chap whirled to the window, drew the shade, and snapped on
