  Ned Blake and Dick Somers had secreted themselves among the bushes in such position that they could see any movement that might take place at the rear of the house or along its eastern end. The moon was now well above the woods and, although in its last quarter, it still gave sufficient light to make near-by objects dimly visible. From their place of concealment the boys could look out upon the shadowy surface of the lake, and many an anxious glance was turned that way, prompted by the remembrance of the craft whose mysterious movements had so puzzled them a few nights before. For the most part, however, their attention was fixed upon the great house, which loomed black and sinister, save where the feeble moonlight silvered the slate roof and touched the gleaming white range-mark on the chimney. Oppressed by the ominous silence, the boys exchanged but few whispered words and moved only when necessary to relieve cramped muscles. An hour passed, and then Ned grasped his companion’s arm and pointed to a dark object that had made its sudden appearance at the end of the house. “What is it! Where did it come from!” Dick’s whisper was a gasp of excitement. “I don’t know,” breathed Ned. “I didn’t see it till it moved! Hist! Lie low! It’s coming this way!” The black shape, scarcely more than a blotch against the dark background of the house wall, seemed to creep along the ground till the corner was reached. Here it slowly straightened to the form of a man and, after a moment’s hesitation, stepped out upon the moonlit strip of sand which it crossed with noiseless tread. Ten feet from the boys’ hiding-place it stopped as if to listen. “NED BROUGHT HIM DOWN WITH A HARD DIVING TACKLE” “Now!” yelled Ned, and springing to his feet, he dashed straight at the figure which turned in its tracks and fled with desperate speed back across the open space toward the house. “Help! Help! Head him off!” shouted Dick, and at the sound of his cry, Rogers and Beals leaped from their places. But the flying figure never got past the end of the house. Ned Blake, running like an antelope, overtook and brought it down with a hard diving tackle. A furious struggle ensued, for the “ghost” proved to be a decidedly tough customer in a rough and tumble fight. Over and over rolled the combatants, Ned striving desperately to retain his leg hold, while Dick, who had been but a leap behind his leader’s dash, used every ounce of his own supple strength in a frantic effort to pinion the threshing arms. Charlie Rogers, flashing into view around the corner of the house, brought timely reinforcement, and Tommy Beals, puffing painfully from his own hard run, signalized his somewhat late arrival and at the same time ended the battle by catapulting his ample weight full upon the mid-section of the prostrate “ghost,” from whose body the breath was expelled in a loud “Hah!” Aroused by the shouts of combat, Dave Wilbur rushed to the scene and assisted the victors to carry their semi-conscious prisoner to the house. A candle was quickly brought and as its light shone upon the distorted features the boys fell back with a cry of amazement. It was the face of Slugger Slade. “Holy cat!” yelped Charlie Rogers. “What the blazes is he doing here?” “Just this minute he’s trying to recover his breath that Fatty knocked out of him,” replied Ned. “We’d better make sure of him while we have the chance,” and slipping off his belt, Ned confined the slugger’s arms behind his back. Dick hastened to bind the ankles in like manner, and when this had been done, the prisoner was hoisted to a chair. “Well—what are you—going to do—about it?” gasped Slade with his first returning breath. “First of all we’re going to ask what you are doing on our property,” replied Ned, sternly. “If your answers aren’t satisfactory to us, we will take you back to Truesdell and turn you over to the police.” “All right then, if you want the truth, I was just hiding out here to scare you fellows—just for the fun of it,” sneered Slade, at the same time flexing his great muscles in a testing strain on the strap which bound his arms. “It’s no use pulling at that belt,” advised Dick. “That’s the same belt you fooled with once before. It beat you then and it’s going to be too much for you this time.” Slade received the taunt with an ugly scowl and turned to Ned Blake. “Well, now that you’ve heard my explanation, what do you say?” he demanded. “Why, I’d say that as an explanation it leaves too many things unaccounted for,” replied Ned, evenly. “What things?” growled Slade. “Oh, little matters—like phony letters, and warnings, and ghost tricks, all calculated to interfere with our business,” suggested Ned. “We want to know what your object was.” “Just like I told you a minute ago,” persisted Slade. “I was trying to scare you fellows off the place. I worked it with the nigger, but—” “Who sent you out here?” interrupted Beals. “Nobody sent me,” growled Slade with an obstinate shake of his big head. “I just came of my own accord, and that’s all I’ll tell you—or the cops either!” “Very well then, perhaps you’ll listen while I tell you something,” began Ned, quietly. “You are one of a gang that is making some use of this property of ours. The tug Irma comes close to shore here and picks up the old dredge ranges. A truck makes night trips back and forth through that old wood-road between here and the Cleveland highway. Now, who besides yourself is mixed up in this and what is it all about?” Slade maintained a sullen silence, and after a moment Ned continued. “I’ll tell you who two of them are,” he said deliberately and without taking his eyes from Slade’s face. “One is a tall, red-faced man named Miller and the other is—Latrobe.” “That’s what you’re guessing,” sneered Slade. “The chances are you’ve never set eyes on Latrobe.” “Yes, I’ve seen him three times,” was the quiet reply. “Once when he wore a diving-suit, and again when he rode up to Cleveland on my ice-boat; but the last time I saw him was when he was talking to Miller out in the old wood-road last Thursday night.” At these words, Slade straightened in his chair with an involuntary start of surprise and the furtive look that flashed into his black eyes proved a sudden inspiration to Ned, who was watching him keenly. “You remember, Slade,” Ned continued in a tone of assurance. “You remember how the slabs fell down and Latrobe and Miller jumped out of the truck? You were in the shanty, signaling with a flashlight.” “Where were you?” The question burst from Slade’s throat in a gasp of astonishment, which was ample confirmation of the correctness of Ned’s guess. “Oh, we were behind the pile of slabs—Dave Wilbur and I,” laughed Ned. “Yeah, I’ll say we were!” exclaimed Dave in his wheezy whisper. “We were there all right—but I’ve learned a lot more in the last minute than I suspected then!” “Now, Slade,” resumed Ned, and the laugh was gone from his face and also from his voice, “you may as well tell us the whole truth. Let’s begin at the beginning. Who sent you out here?” “Latrobe,” admitted Slade. “I’ve got a job with him over across the lake in Canada.” “And your job was to scare us away from this house?” “Yeah, that was it,” acknowledged Slade. “Why did Latrobe want to get rid of us?” persisted Ned. Slade shrugged his heavy shoulders and moistened his lips. “Latrobe doesn’t give his reasons for what he wants,” he muttered. “How did you manage to appear and disappear so quickly?” demanded Rogers. “Where were you hiding?” “Oh, I was laying out in the brush,” replied Slade, who seemed more ready to answer when the questions concerned himself instead of his employer. “No, you were not!” exclaimed Dick, hotly. “You’ve got some hole close to the house! Now where is it?” “If you knew that you’d soon learn a whole lot more,” was the sneering reply. “And while we were learning it you might have a chance to make yourself scarce around here,” interrupted Ned. “We’d like to solve this mystery without outside help, but if you refuse to talk, we’ll turn you over to the police and see what luck they have with you. The game is up. Take your choice; talk to us or to the police.” Slade hesitated and lowered the lids over eyes which had grown suddenly crafty. “You spoke of giving me a chance,” he began, speaking slowly and evidently choosing his words with care. “Do you mean I’ll be free to go if I show you what I know?” “Absolutely,” declared Ned, after a glance at the other boys had assured him of their approval. “Play fair with us and we’ll let you go.” “All right,” agreed Slade. “Take off these straps.” “Not so fast,” interposed Ned. “We’ll give you the use of your feet and then if you prove yourself worthy, we’ll carry out the rest of the bargain.” The belt was removed from Slade’s ankles and he arose from the chair. “Now lead on,” directed Ned, “and remember, no tricks—or into the flivver you go for a rough ride to town!” The crafty expression in Slade’s eyes changed to a gleam of treachery, which might have aroused suspicion, had the boys noted it. Unfortunately for them, as events proved, they were too intent upon solving the mystery, as they eagerly followed their prisoner out of the door and down the steps. Rounding the corner of the house, Slade continued along its eastern wall and stopped before one of the foundation stones, a big slab some four feet long and three feet in height. “Give me the use of my hands and I’ll show you,” he offered. “Nothing doing!” replied Ned, decidedly. “You’ll tell us what to do and we’ll do it!” “Suspicious, eh?” sneered Slade, and again he veiled the malicious light that flashed into his black eyes. “All right,” he continued, “step on that piece of white stone in the ground close to the wall.” Ned did so and felt the stone settle an inch beneath his foot. “Now push hard against the end of that slab,” continued Slade, indicating the big foundation stone. Beals put his weight upon the point indicated and the slab swung inward pivoting upon a perpendicular axis near its center. The resulting opening was about three feet high and two feet wide, affording access to the cellar under the house. “Well, are you satisfied?” demanded Slade, when the excited exclamations of astonishment had ceased. By way of answer, Ned Blake unbuckled the belt from the slugger’s arms. “I don’t bear you any ill will, Slade, and I guess the rest of the boys feel the same. Evidently you’ve been mixed up in some sort of funny business and we’re going to know what it is mighty soon. Take my advice and keep straight hereafter.” “Don’t you worry about me. I’ll take care of myself,” growled Slade, and turning on his heel, he strode away and passed from sight among the shadowy woods that bordered the lake. |
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