Tunnels 01, Tunnels

down the street.
    "What's all clear?" Mr. Clarke senior sprung up like a deranged jack-in-the-box.
    "Papers!" Mr. Clarke junior ordered in the voice of an angry librarian, but his brother remained above the counter.
    "Uh... just some kids," Will lied. "We were being chased."
    "Boys will be boys!" Mr. Clarke junior giggled. "Now please do remember me to your dear sister, Miss Rebecca. You know, she really has such a good eye for quality produce. A gifted young lady."
    "I will." Will nodded and forced a smile. "And thanks for this, Mr. Clarke."
    "Oh, think nothing of it," he said.
    "We do hope that your father returns home soon," Mr. Clarke senior said dolefully. "You shouldn't worry; these things happen from time to time."
    "Well... it's like that Greggson boy... terrible thing, that," Mr. Clarke junior said with a knowing look and a sigh. "And then there was the Watkins family..." Will and Chester watched him as he seemed to focus on a point somewhere between the ranks of the carrots and the cucumbers. "Such nice people, too. No one's seen hide nor hair of them since they--"
    "It's not the same thing, not the same at all," Mr. Clarke senior interrupted his brother sharply, then coughed uneasily. "I don't think this is the time or place to bring that up, Junior. A little unsympathetic, do you not think, given the situation?"
    But "Junior" wasn't listening; he was in full flow now and not to be stopped. Crossing his arms and with his head tilted to one side, he took on the aura of one of the old biddies he habitually gossiped with. "Like the flippin' lost colony of Roanoke it was, when the police got there. Empty beds, the boys' uniforms all laid out for school the next day, but they were nowhere to be found, none of them. Mrs. W had ordered half a pound of our green beans that very morning, if I recall, and a couple of watermelons. Anyway, no sign of any of them anywhere?"
    "What... the watermelons?" Mr. Clarke senior asked in a deadpan voice.
    "No, the family , you silly sausage," Mr. Clarke junior said, rolling his eyes.
    In the silence that ensued, Will looked from Mr. Clarke junior to Mr. Clarke senior, who was staring daggers at his wistful sibling. He was beginning to feel as Alice must have when she'd stepped through the looking glass.
    " Ho-hum , better get on," proclaimed Mr. Clarke junior with a last lingering look of sympathy at Will, and he tiptoed back up his stepladder, singing, "Beetroot to me, mon petit chou..."
    Mr. Clarke senior had sunk out of sight once again and the sound of rattling papers resumed, accompanied by the whir of an old-fashioned adding machine. Will and Chester cautiously opened the shop door halfway and peeked nervously into the street.
    "Anything?" Chester asked.
    Will moved out onto the pavement in front of the shop.
    "Nothing," he replied. "No sign of them."
    "We should've called the police, you know."
    "And told them what?" Will said. "That we were chased by two weirdos in sunglasses and silly hats and then they just disappeared?"
    "Yes, exactly that," Chester said, irritated. "Who knows what they were after?" He suddenly looked up as the thought reoccurred to him. "What if they were the gang that took your dad?"
    "Forget it -- we don't know that."
    "But the police..." Chester said.
    "Do you really want to go through all that hassle when we've got work to do?" Will interrupted him sharply, scanning
    Main Street
    up and down and feeling more at ease now that more people were around. At least they would be able to call for help if the two men turned up again. "The police would probably think we're just a couple of kids goofing around. It's not as if we've got any witnesses."
    "Maybe," Chester agreed grudgingly as they started toward the Burrowses' house. "There's no shortage of nuts around here," he said, looking back at the Clarke brothers' shop, "that's for sure."
    "It's safe now, anyway. They're gone, and if they do come back, we'll be ready," Will said confidently.
    Strangely enough, the incident had not deterred him in the slightest. As he thought about it, quite the opposite was true: It confirmed to him that his father had been onto something, and now he was on the right track. Although he didn't mention any of this to Chester, his resolve to continue with the tunnel and his investigations hardened even further.
    Will had begun to pick at the grapes in the garish basket, and the pink ribbon, now undone, flapped in the breeze behind him. Chester appeared to have gotten over