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Shortly after sunset that evening, you climb over the Iron Gate in front of Grimstone’s house and drop noiselessly to the ground. Fortunately the wind is blowing toward you, away from the dog pen; they’re not likely to get your scent. You carefully make your way around toward the kitchen. The blinds are drawn, but you can hear the muffled sound of laughter as you pass the dining room. Myra is waiting for you. She lets you in the back door. “Follow me,” she whispers. “we mustn’t let them hear us!” You tiptoe behind her as she leads you up the back staircase to the second floor, then along a hallway stopping front of a closed door. “Mr. Grimstone has always kept this door locked,” she says, “but this time he forgot. Look inside!” Myra opens the door and flips on a light. You stare open-mouthed at a row of open wooden crates filled with automatic rifles, machine guns. Flares and wired canisters that look very much like bombs!
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