  The attic was immense. It had never been finished off into rooms. It contained a rare assortment of cast-off things that had accumulated over a period of years. To really do a thorough job of searching seemed impossible. And yet—— “We’ve got to get done with this,” said Jimmie, after prying into a dozen dusty chests of drawers. “You can’t tell when those men might come here again and then——” “We’d be trapped,” said Jimmie and saw the girl’s hand tremble. “Say!” the boy exclaimed. “Here’s a queer sort of box. Looks Oriental. Such queer hinges. Dragons done in green with yellow eyes. Let’s have a look.” As he lifted the heavy lid he moved the box a little and there came forth the clank of steel. “Oh!” the girl breathed. “Battle axes, or something.” “No,” said Jimmie, ten seconds later with an uncertain laugh, “head-hunter’s weapons from Borneo or somewhere. See!” He lifted a heavy affair with a keen blade. “I’ve read about these. You tap the victim with the small end, then cut off his head with the blade. Stained with blood many a time, like as not. Man that got these must have traveled.” He dropped the axe with a clang that rose above the roar of thunder. “Hey! What’s that?” John came rushing over to them. “Just an echo from out of the past,” Jimmie laughed. “Look!” said John, calling them to the half-round window. “Did you ever see a wilder sight.” “Never,” Mary Dare gripped his arm hard. Since the old house stood on the crest of the hill they could see far away across the treetops. The wind was at its wildest. “See how the trees twist and sway,” the girl whispered. “As if each one had some monstrous serpent twined about it crushing out its life,” said Jimmie. “Gosh, how the old house shakes and shudders!” the girl exclaimed, as a tremendous peal of thunder fairly set the massive beams creaking. “They say,” John’s tone was impressive, “that when the foundation of this house was laid they dug down twenty feet to the limestone rock and set it there. I am not sure that’s true but there is a wine-cellar beneath the main cellar.” “Perhaps that’s where the treasure is hidden,” suggested Mary. “Not there,” said John. “I was down there only two days ago. Two great casks and three wicker-covered flasks in a dark corner was all I found. “But look!” he exclaimed. “It’s getting worse.” This was true. Never in all his life had Jimmie seen such forks and chains of lightning. Beside this, fourth of July with all its rockets paled into insignificance. “The heavens declare the glory of God,” John murmured, quoting from a very old book. “Day unto day uttereth speech, “And night unto night sheweth knowledge.” “Stop!” exclaimed Mary. “It’s wild enough without that.” “Well,” John shook himself as if to drive away a spell, “guess we’d better——” He did not finish for at that instant there came such a flash and roar as none of them had ever before experienced. Mary sprang back clutching her eyes as if blinded. Jimmie stood rigid as a statue. He was thinking, “I am about to die.” Then came in a flash, “I shall not die. Lightning kills instantly.” “John! Mary! Are you hurt,” he called. “I—I can’t see,” Mary answered. “Of course not. I dropped my flashlight. It’s pitch dark,” Jimmie laughed in spite of himself. There came a minor flash of lightning. “There!” Mary exclaimed. “I’m all right.” But by the light of that flash Jimmie had seen something. John was lying on the floor. “John!” he called. “Are—are you hurt?” A great wave of cold fear swept over him. “No, not—not ser—seriously.” John’s words came slowly and sounded far away, as if he had gone somewhere and was just coming back. “Where’s that flash-light?” Jimmie murmured. “Here—here it is. But it—it won’t work.” “There’s a fountain pen flash-light in my pocket,” John drawled. “Wait. I—I’ll get it.” A moment later a pencil of light appeared and John struggled to his feet. “We—we’ve got to get down out of here,” he managed to say. “That bolt struck the chimney. It may have set the house on fire. We’ll be trapped.” The stairway was near the massive chimney. As Jimmie passed close to it he stumbled over a loose brick. “John was right,” he thought. “It did strike the chimney.” As they reached the third story, the second, then the first, an increasing feeling of relief came over them. “Cold bolt,” said John as they once more reached the living room. “Cold bolts don’t set anything on fire. They—— “Say!” his tone changed. “What’s that? Look! Only look!” As his pencil of light played over the floor before the broad fireplace it revealed masses of broken mortar and bricks scattered far and wide. The lightning had done its work well. This was not what held their eyes glued to the spot. Mingled with the debris were scores of white and blue flashes of light. “Unset diamonds,” John muttered thickly. “Thousands of dollars worth. The lightning destroyed their place of hiding. “Here! Quick!” He snatched the evening paper from his pocket. “Spread this out, Mary. Then you two start gathering them up and putting them on the paper while I catch their gleam with this bum lamp.” For a full ten minutes after that the storm was forgotten. When the wind died down, they did not know. After the last peal of thunder rolled away in the distance and the last flash of lightning came, silence engulfed the room. One thing John’s keen eye did catch. From time to time his gaze wandered to the beginning of that winding drive leading to the house. At last, with a low exclamation he whispered, “That’s all. And just in time. A high-powered car just drove into the place. It will be here in about sixty seconds. Mary, fold that paper carefully and bring it along. Both of you come on. I know a way out.” The way they followed was narrow and winding. It led to servant’s quarters and a back door. One moment more and they stood shaking in a dark corner. “John,” Jimmie whispered hoarsely, “the trap is set.” |
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