  Without delay he resumed climbing. There were other big limbs at frequent intervals which made this easier. Presently a heavy mass of fragrant pine brushed his face. A moment later his groping hand touched another wooden cleat nailed to the trunk, and a little exploration convinced him that this was the bottom rung of a rough ladder which led directly into the treetop. And there, at last, he found what he was looking for. Far above the level of the house roof, and completely hidden by the thick foliage, was a small, wooden platform. That it was near the top of the tree Cavvy knew from the swaying of the limbs about him and the chill beat of sleet against his face. There were ropes here and a sort of rigging, the purpose of which puzzled him until his searching fingers encountered the shaft of a slim, tough pole which seemed to be held in place by a series of u-shaped iron bands driven into the trunk. At a point about on a level with his head as he stood on the platform, the wires left the trunk and continued upward along the pole with a good deal of looseness and play; and of a sudden an explanation of the whole ingenious apparatus came to him. The pole must hold the wireless aerials. It could not be placed permanently in the treetop for the simple reason that it would project above the branches and in the daytime be visible for a long distance. Hence this device for lowering it except at night, the pole simply slipped down through the irons and held by them close to the trunk of the tree on the opposite side from the ladder. When darkness fell it could be hoisted without danger. And it was at night, of course, that those treacherous messages of information or warning were sent to the enemy U-boats, for Wharton was within easy reach of the coast, and it would be a poor wireless indeed which could not transmit many times that distance. In spite of the cold sleet and drenching rain that beat upon him, Cavanaugh felt a glow of mingled triumph and anger at his discovery. It seemed as if he could not reach the ground swiftly enough so eager was he to start rolling the ball which would end in the capture of this traitor and perhaps his confederates. In vastly less time than it had taken him to make the slow ascent, he reached the bottom crotch and scrambled to the shed roof. Without waiting for McBride’s help, he hung by his hands and dropped. Then he tip-toed over to the house. “Micky!” he whispered, a thrill of excitement quivering even in his carefully lowered voice. “Micky! I’ve found it.” There was no answer. Surprised and puzzled, Cavvy took a step or two forward through the darkness and his outstretched hand suddenly touched the casing of the door. “Micky!” he repeated, this time a little louder. “Where the dickens are you?” Still no answer came, and the boy turned away with a muttered exclamation of irritation. “He must have gone back to the others,” he thought. “Funny thing for him to do, but of course that’s it.” Hastily circling the house, he groped his way to the point as nearly as he could find it where Ritter and Ferris had left the path. A backward glance showed him the dim light still burning in the corner room, and he called the boys’ names in a guarded but penetrating whisper. The response was instant, and in a moment they stood beside him. “Is Micky here?” asked Cavanaugh quickly. “Why, no,” returned Ferris. “Isn’t he with you? I thought—” “You haven’t seen him, then?” “Not since you two went off together.” Cavvy stood silent for a moment, fighting back the vague, yet persistent feeling of alarm which was stealing over him. There must be some simple explanation for McBride’s disappearance, but what was it? At any rate this new development upset all his calculations. He had planned to hasten back at once to Wharton and report his discovery so that authorities might lose no time in coming out to capture the wireless spy. But that was impossible now. No matter what lay in the balance, he could not bring himself to leave this desolate place without finding out what had happened to his friend. He tried to think, but all the time that nagging sense of anxiety and misgiving grew stronger. Suddenly his jaw squared and his chin went up. “Listen, fellows,” he said abruptly. “You two will have to go back to town and bring help. I don’t know what the dickens has happened to Micky. He just seems to have disappeared. I left him by the back door while I climbed the tree, and when I came down he was gone. He may have slipped off to take a snoop around the house, but we can’t all go and leave him, especially since there is a wireless up that tree, and you know what kind of men would be running a thing like that these days. So I’ll stay here and look around, and you hustle back as quick as you can and get hold of somebody to come out here. You needn’t go all the way to town if you can dig up two or three men at any of the farms along the road. But they’ve got to be men you can depend on. Get me?” “Y-y-yes,” stammered Ritter, his teeth chattering audible. “B-b-but what about you?” “Don’t worry about me; I’ll be all right. Now hustle; and for Pete’s sake don’t lose any time!” Obediently they started off; then Ferris ran back. “I forgot,” he said hastily. “A little while ago we heard a car out on the road. It slowed down, but we couldn’t tell whether it stopped, or whether the trees muffled the sound.” “A car?” repeated Cavvy thoughtfully. “Humph! Of course it might be just a farmer’s jitney passing; it’s not really very late. Better be careful when you get out on the road, though. This guy must have someone or other to bring him news.” Ferris nodded, and without further comment turned and vanished into the shadows. Listening intently, Cavanaugh heard the faint rustle of their hurried passage through the bushes. Then silence fell—a silence utter and complete and different, somehow, in its quality from the silence of even a few moments before. He was alone now—yet not alone. Somewhere in that spooky ruin of a house mystery and danger lurked. He felt it in every breath he drew, and it needed a distinct effort of will to force himself into action. But there was nothing else to do. He could not stop here; he must begin at once to search for his missing friend. Slowly he approached the house and circled it. At the back door he paused and whispered Micky’s name. There was no answer, nor did he, curiously, seem to expect one. He took a step or two forward, his eyes, by this time accustomed to the darkness, sweeping the shadowy outlines of the house and shed. Then his foot struck something on the ground and bending down he picked up a stout stick which lay there in the tall grass. Micky’s stick! He knew the heft and feel of it, and a fresh wave of apprehension swept over him. Why should Micky have dropped it here after carrying it with him all afternoon? And then, as he stood there motionless, his heart began to throb suffocatingly. A faint scraping sound had come to him, and in another moment he realized that the door beside him was slowly, silently opening. |
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