He set his suit case in the tonneau, went out of the little door, edged
around to the front and very, very cautiously he unlocked the big doors
and set them open. He went in and felt the front wheels, judged that
they were set straight, felt around the interior until his fingers
touched a block of wood and stepped off the approximate length of the
car in front of the garage, allowing for the swing of the doors, and
placed the block there. Then he went back, eased off the emergency
brake, grabbed a good handhold and strained forward.
The chains hindered, but the floor sloped to the front a trifle, which
helped. In a moment he had the satisfaction of feeling the big car give,
then roll slowly ahead. The front wheels dipped down over the threshold,
and Bud stepped upon the running board, took the wheel, and by instinct
more than by sight guided her through the doorway without a scratch.
She rolled forward like a black shadow until a wheel jarred against the
block, whereupon he set the emergency brake and got off, breathing free
once more. He picked up the block and carried it back, quietly closed
the big doors and locked them, taking time to do it silently. Then, in
a glow of satisfaction with his work, he climbed slowly into the car,
settled down luxuriously in the driver's seat, eased off the brake, and
with a little lurch of his body forward started the car rolling down the
driveway.
There was a risk, of course, in coasting out on to the street with
no lights, but he took it cheerfully, planning to dodge if he saw the
lights of another car coming. It pleased him to remember that the street
inclined toward the bay. He rolled past the house without a betraying
sound, dipped over the curb to the asphalt, swung the car townward, and
coasted nearly half a block with the ignition switch on before he pushed
up the throttle, let in his clutch, and got the answering chug-chug of
the engine. With the lights on full he went purring down the street in
the misty fog, pleased with himself and his mission.