Fatty told him: “Got to collect something for Larry. If I can’t find it, you’ll have to sniff about for it, Buster.” “Wuff,” said Buster, happily, and ran on ahead. Up this way down that round a corner and by a lamppost. The street-lights went off at twelve. Soon it would be midnight, and then there would not be even a lamp to break the darkness. It was a very cloudy night, and the clouds were low and thick. Fatty felt a spot of rain. He put his hand in his pocket to make sure he had his torch. Between the lampposts the way was very dark. Yes, his torch was there good. “I’ll need it when I creep into the bungalow garden,” thought Fatty. “I’ll never find Larry’s leather without a light.” He came to the turning into Holly Lane. The street lamps suddenly went out twelve o’clock! Fatty got out his torch. He simply couldn’t see a step in front of him without it on this dark night. He came to the front gate of the little bungalow. It was all in darkness.
