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“Let your cars out,” he cried, “for God’s sake.”

And we went on.

It was the only adventure on the way. The road skirted the town, and once past it Mooney considered the peril ended. We took off the trainmen’s uniforms and put them into the sack.

The fog increased, it seemed to me, but its very density covered the close of our adventure. We ran along the street to the garage from which we had borrowed the car. White handled it with skill. He entered the street with a spurt of speed, then he cut off the engine and we glided almost noiselessly along to the very door of the garage. We got down. White unlocked the door and we pushed the car in; then he locked it again carefully.

I don’t think he had a key; I think he manipulated that lock with a bent nail. But at any rate we walked away, having restored the car to its house, Mooney with the loot sack on his shoulder. It was Saturday night and the circus remained over until Sunday in the meadow beyond the town.

Only the top of the great tent stood now above the sheet of fog as we set out across the field toward it.