A STARTLING DISCLOSURE
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.
[Illustration: “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.