Phil looked with interest at the old gray house that could be seen more clearly now that they were approaching it. When they were still some distance from the lane, however, Frank brought his motorcycle to a stop and signaled to the others to do likewise.
“What’s the idea?” Chet asked.
“We’d better sneak up on the place quietly. If we go any farther they’ll hear the motorcycles—that is, if there is anyone at the place. We’ll leave them here under the trees and go ahead on foot.”
The motorcycles were accordingly hidden in a clump of bushes beside the road and the six boys went on toward the lane.
“We’ll separate here,” Frank decided. “Three of us will take one side of the lane and the rest will take the other side. Keep to the bushes as much as possible and when we get near the house lay low for a while and watch the place. When I whistle we can come out from under cover and go on up to the house.”
“That’s a good plan,” approved Tony. “Joe and Biff and I, we’ll go on the left side of the road.”
“Good. Chet and Phil and I will take the other side. Remember to keep out of sight of the house as much as possible.”
The boys entered the lane, then separated according to the agreement they had made. One group plunged into the weeds and undergrowth at the edge of the lane on one side while the others pushed into the bushes at the opposite side. In a few minutes each group was lost to view and only an occasional snapping and crackling of branches indicated their presence in the heavy undergrowth that flanked the lane.
Frank advanced cautiously. The brushwood was much deeper than he had anticipated and they made slow progress, for he was desirous of creeping up on the house with as little noise as possible. The undergrowth was thick and hampered their movements. They made their way forward, step by step, keeping well in from the lane, and after about ten minutes Frank raised his hand as a warning to the others.
Through the dense thickets he had caught a glimpse of the house.
They went on cautiously until they reached the edge of the bushes and there they crouched behind the screen of leaves, peeping out at the gloomy old stone building in the clearing.
But at the first glance, an expression of surprise crossed Frank’s face.
The Polucca house was evidently occupied!
The weeds that had overgrown the yard on their last visit had been completely cleared away, the grass had been cut and the tumble-down fence had been repaired. The gate, which had been hanging by one hinge, had been fixed and the grass along the pathway had been trimmed.
A similar change had overtaken the house.
There was glass in all the windows and the boards had been removed. The front door had been repaired and the steps had been mended. Smoke was rising from the kitchen chimney.
“There must be someone living here,” whispered Chet.
Frank was puzzled.
He had not heard that anyone had taken the Polucca house. On account of the unenviable fame of the place it was hardly likely that a new tenant could move in without arousing considerable comment in Bayport. But this had evidently happened.
For a while the boys remained at the edge of the bushes watching the place. Then they saw a woman come out to the clothesline at the back of the house. She carried a basket of clothes, and these she began hanging up on the line. Shortly afterward a man came out, strode across the yard to the woodshed and began chopping wood.
The boys looked at one another in consternation.
They had expected to find the same sinister and deserted place they had visited previously. Instead, they had arrived on a scene of domestic peace and comfort. They could not understand it.
“Not much use staying in hiding,” whispered Frank. “Let’s get together and walk right up and question these people.”
He gave a low whistle, then emerged from the bushes into the lane. His companions followed. In a short time they were joined by Joe and the other boys.
All were deeply puzzled by the remarkable change that had come over the Polucca place.
“This beats anything I ever heard of,” declared Joe. “It looks as if some farmer has taken the place, but it’s queer we hadn’t heard of it. Everybody in Bayport would be talking about it if they knew someone had nerve enough to take over the Polucca farm.”
“I’m not satisfied yet,” Frank said. “We’ll go up and question these people.”
Accordingly, the six boys walked boldly out of the lane and across the yard. The man in the woodshed saw them first and put down his axe, staring at them with an expression of annoyance on his face. The woman at the clothesline heard their footsteps and turned, facing them, her hands upon her hips. She was hard-faced and tightlipped, with gaunt features. She was not prepossessing and her untidy garb did not impress the boys favorably.
“What do you want?” demanded the man, emerging from the woodshed.
He was short and thin with close-cropped hair, and he was in need of a shave. His complexion was swarthy and he had narrow eyes under coarse, black brows. His manner was far from polite as he advanced upon the boys.
At the same time another man came out of the kitchen and stood on the steps. He was stout and red-haired and had a thick mustache. As he stood there in his shirtsleeves he glared pugnaciously at the sextette.
“Yeah, what’s the big idea?” he asked.
“We didn’t know anyone was living here,” explained Frank, edging over to the kitchen door. He wanted to get a look inside the house if possible.
“Well, there is,” said the red-haired man. “We’re livin’ here now, and I can’t see that
