The Wrong HouseThe night was dark. And the house was dark. Dark-and silent. The two men ran toward it quietly. They slipped quickly through the dark bushes which surrounded the house. They reached the porch, ran up the steps, and knelt down, breathing heavily, in the dark shadows. They waited, listening. Silence. Perfect silence. Then--- out of the blackness---a whisper: “ We can’t stay out here… Take this suitcase…Let me try those keys. We’ve got to get in!” Ten…twenty…thirty seconds. With one of the keys, the first man opened the door. Silently, the two men entered the house, closed the door behind them, and locked it. Whispering, they discussed the situation. They wondered if they had awakened anyone in the house. “Let’s have a look at this place. Careful, Hy. I hope there isn’t anybody awake!” And the soft rays of a flashlight swept the room. It was a large room. A living room. Rugs, carefully rolled, lay piled on one side. The furniture---chairs, tables, couches---was covered by sheets. Dust lay like a light snow over everything. The man who held the flashlight spoke first. “Well, Blackie,” he said, “we’re in luck. Looks as if the family’s away.” “Yeah, gone for the summer, I guess. We better make sure, though.” Together they searched the house. They went on tiptoe through every room. There could be no doubt about it, the family was away. Had been away for weeks. Yes, Hy Hogan and Blackie Burns were in luck. Only once in the past ten days had their luck failed them. It had been with them when they made their big robbery---their truly magnificent robbery---on the Coast. It had been with them during their thousand-mile trip eastward, by car. It had been with them every moment---but one. That moment had come just one hour before. It came when Blackie, driving the car, ran over a policeman. And Blackie, thinking of the suitcase at Hy’s feet, had driven away. Swiftly. There had been a chase, of course. A wild, crazy chase. And when a bullet had punctured the gasoline tank, they had had to abandon the car. But luck or no luck, here they were. Alone, and without a car, in a completely strange town. But safe and sound---with the suitcase. The suitcase lay in the center of the table, in the center of the room. In it, neat little package on neat little package, lay nearly three hundred thousand dollars. “Listen,” said Hogan. “We have to get a car. Quick, too. and we can’t steal one: It’s too dangerous. We have to buy one. That means that we have to wait until the lots open. That will be about eight o’clock in this town.” “But what are we going to do with that?” Burns pointed to the suitcase. “Hide it right here. Sure! Why not? It’s much safer here than with us---until we get a car.” And so they hid the suitcase. They carried it down to the basement and buried it in an unfinished corner where no cement had been laid. Just before dawn, they slipped out. As they were walking down the street, Hogan remarked that a Samuel W. Rogers lived in the house they had just left. “How do you know?” “Saw the name on some of the library books. The guy’s really got a lot of books. Looks like a library in there.” The used car lots opened at eight, as they had supposed. Shortly before nine, Hogan and Burns had a car. A nice little car. Very quiet. Very inconspicuous. Very speedy. They arranged fro temporary plates and drove off. There blocks from the house, they stopped. Hogan got out. Walked toward the house. He’d just go around to the rear, he thought, and slip in. Fifty yards from the house, he stopped. Stared, swore softly. The front door was open. The window shades were up. The family had returned! Well, what bad luck! And what could they do? Break into the cellar that night, and pick up the suitcase? No---too dangerous, Hogan would have to think of something. “Leave it to me, kid.” He told Burns. “You drive the car. I’ll do the special brain work. Let’s find a telephone. Quick!” Ten minutes later, Hogan was consulting a telephone directory. Yes, there it was---Samuel W. Rogers, 555-6329. A moment later he was talking to the surprised Mr. Rogers. “Hello,” he began. “is his Mr. Rogers---Mr. Samuel Rogers?” “Yes, this is Mr. Rogers.” Hogan cleared his throat. “Mr. Rogers,” he said---and his tone was sharp, official, impressive---“this is Headquarters, Police Headquarters, talking. I am Simpson. Sergeant Simpson, of the detective division…” “Yes, yes!” came over the wire.“The Chief---the Chief of Police, you know,” here Hogan lowered his voice a little---“has ordered me to get in touch with you. He’s sending me out with one of our men to see you.”“Am I in trouble of some kind?” asked Mr. Rogers.“No, no, no. Nothing like that. But I have something of great importance to talk to you about.”“Very well,” came the voice of Mr. Rogers. “I’ll wait for you.”“And, Mr. Rogers,” Hogan cautioned, “please keep quiet about this. Don’t say anything to anybody. You’ll understand why when I see you.”On the way back to the house, Hogan explained his idea to Burns.Within ten minutes, “Sergeant Simpson” and “Detective Johnson” were conversing with the surprised Mr. Rogers. Mr. Rogers was a small man. Rather insignificant. He had pale blue eyes. Not much of a chin. A funny little face. He was nervous---a badly frightened man.Hogan told the whole story. Somewhat changed, of course. Mr. Rogers was surprised, but he was delighted to be able to help the police.He accompanied Hy Hogan to the cellar. And together they dug up the suitcase. Took it to the living room, opened it, saw that it had not been touched---that it really did hold a small fortune. Bills, bills, bills!Hogan closed the suitcase.“And now, Mr. Rogers,” he announced, in his best official manner, “Johnson and I must run along. The Chief wants a report---quick. We have to catch to rest of the robbers. I’ll keep in touch with you.”He picked up the suitcase and rose. Burns also rose. Mr. Rogers also rose. The trio walked to the door. Mr. Rogers opened it. “ Come on in, boys,” he said pleasantly---and in walked three men. Large men. Strong men. Men in police uniforms who, without fear, stared at Hy Hogan and Blackie Burns. “What does this mean, Mr. Rogers?” asked Hogan.“It’s quite simple,” said Mr. Rogers. “It just happens that I am the Chief of Police!”3. What caused them to abandon their car?
【正确答案】：Once after they robbed, they drove the car and ran over a policeman and were chased by policemen, then the gasoline tank of their car was punctured by a bullet, so they had to abandon the car.
【题目解析】：P66
