“I’d rather tackle a good mystery than eat,” laughed Frank. “And here is one right to hand. Let’s go back.”
Biff Hooper did not care to seem guilty of cowardice by staying behind while his companions returned to the house, and he was on the point of a reluctant consent when the matter was suddenly solved for them all by a downpour of rain.
Storm clouds had been gathering in the sky for the past hour and there had been dull rumblings of thunder. Now an uneasy wind stirred the branches of the trees and rustled dismally among the undergrowth. There was a spatter of raindrops, and then the storm broke in abrupt violence. Rain poured down in sheets.
“The motorcycles!” cried Frank.
Turning up their coat collars, the boys ran through the thick grass until they reached the place where their machines had been parked.
“I saw an old shed near the house,” called out Joe. “We can put the bikes under cover.”
There was an abandoned wagon shed near the rear of the house, and toward this refuge the lads trundled the heavy motorcycles. Although the shed was almost falling to pieces, the roof was still in fairly good condition and the machines were safe from the downpour.
“Come on,” said Frank, when the motorcyles had been placed under cover. “Let’s go back into the house.”
He led the way, running across the open space from the shed, through the driving rain, and Joe followed. The others, after a moment of hesitation, came after them.
The back door of the house was open and the lads ran up the steps into the shelter of the building. They were in a room that had evidently been used as a kitchen, and although rain came in slanting streaks through the open windows, the glass of which had long since been shattered, they were at least sheltered from the downpour that had assumed redoubled violence. The rain drummed on the roof of the old house and poured from black skies on the nearby wagon shed. Thunder rolled and rumbled threateningly, and every once in a while a sheet of lightning tore a band of lurid light across the gloom.
Chet took off his cap, which was drenched, and tried to dry it out. The others stood by the window, looking out at the terrific downpour.
Then came the second shriek!
It rang out suddenly, at a time when none of the lads was talking and it was a replica of the first—a quavering, long drawn out yell, that seemed to freeze the blood in their veins.
No sooner had it died away than there came a terrific clap of thunder, and then the rain seemed to beat down on the roof of the old house in a frenzy.
In the gloomy, dusty kitchen, the boys stared at one another.
Frank broke the silence.
“I’m going to find out about this!” he declared firmly, striding over to the door that led to the interior of the house.
“Me too,” said Joe.
Taking heart by the Hardy boys’ example, the others crowded at their heels.
Frank flung open the door and strode into the room beyond. It was a very gloomy chamber, for the one window was boarded up, but when their eyes became accustomed to the meager light the boys saw that a door on the far side of the room led into a hallway. It was evidently not the hallway that they had already been in at the front of the house, but presumably one that led to a side door.
“Nothing here,” said Frank, “I’d like to find those stairs. That yell came from the upper part of the house.”
The boys made their way across the room. Outside they could hear the sweep of the rain and the steady rumblings of the thunder, for the storm was now at its height. Through the chinks of the boards over the window they could occasionally see the lurid glare of lightning.
Suddenly there was a blast of wind that seemed to shake the entire house. A sharp, violent noise immediately behind them made every boy jump with surprise.
They wheeled about.
The door behind them had been blown shut. Biff Hooper, who was nearest, grasped the knob and tried to open it. He wrenched and tugged at the door, but it remained obstinate.
“We’re locked in!” he muttered.
“We can get out, all right,” said Frank. “There must be a door in this side hall.”
He walked across the room and entered the hallway.
At the same instant a maniacal howl rang through the old house. The hollow echoes magnified its volume.
A flash of lightning illuminated the startled faces of the five boys. With one accord they rushed into the hallway. It was a narrow place, heavy with dust, and their feet thudded heavily on the mouldy flooring.
Crash!
At the far end of the hall they had a glimpse of falling plaster that fell in a great heap to the floor. A dense cloud of dust arose and filled the narrow chamber.
“Run for your lives!” yelled Frank.
But no sooner were the words out of his mouth than there came a ripping, crackling sound from overhead. Immediately above them, a large part of the ceiling, disturbed no doubt by the vibrations of their feet as they ran into the hall, had given way. A wide crack that showed in the plaster quickly became wider, and then, with a terrific roar, half the hall ceiling came tumbling down upon the lads.
They were buried in dust and lathes and plaster that came upon them in such an avalanche that they were thrown to the floor. The splintering of wood and ominous crackling that followed, indicated that more of the ceiling was about to go, and then came a roar even louder than the first, as another avalanche of debris rolled down upon them.
Was the Polucca house falling in?
III
Empty Tool Boxes
When he was knocked off
