The Chimney Collapses
Frank Hardy ran over to the bed where Hanleigh was sleeping. The uproar
on the roof had already aroused the man somewhat and he was stirring
restlessly. Frank shook him.
“Get up!” he shouted. “The chimney is caving in!”
Hanleigh sat up quickly.
“What?” he demanded, rubbing his eyes.
“Get up! It’s dangerous here. The storm blew down one of the trees and
it struck the chimney!”
There was another crash. Stones and rocks went bumping and rolling down
the roof, and more débris came tumbling into the fireplace.
Hanleigh needed no second urging. He sprang out of bed, then halted with
a groan of pain.
“My ankle!” he said.
“I’ll help you.” Frank seized him by the arm, and Hanleigh hobbled out
into the kitchen, where the others were gathered. The cabin was creaking
and swaying in the violent wind. Every little while they could hear an
additional fragment of the chimney come crashing down onto the roof.
“Is the chimney coming down?” demanded Hanleigh eagerly.
They looked at him in surprise. Instead of being frightened, the man
actually appeared glad of the mishap.
“If that other tree blows over and hits it, the chimney will be
wrecked,” said Frank sharply. “I can’t see anything to look forward to
in that.”
Hanleigh was silent, but there was a look of undisguised elation in his
swarthy face.
The wind was a hurricane by now.
Wilder and wilder it blew. The snow was so heavy that the boys could not
see more than a few feet beyond the window. The chimney was no longer
breaking up and the steady thump and clatter of rocks on the roof had
ceased. The fireplace was half full of mortar and bits of stone.
“We’d better stay where we are,” said Frank. “We’re safe enough in the
kitchen. If that chimney collapses it will mean trouble for any one in
the outer room.”
Hanleigh limped over to a chair and sat down.
“Might as well be comfortable,” he muttered.
“Certainly,” agreed Frank. He swung around to face the man. Then, quite
calmly, he said: “When did John Sparewell die?”
Hanleigh was taken completely off his guard by the sudden question.
“About eighteen months ago—” he began. Then he halted. “What do you
know about John Sparewell?” he demanded.
“We know he was your uncle. And we know he disappeared from Elroy
Jefferson’s home with the rosewood box fifteen years ago. We know a lot
more than you think, Hanleigh.”
“You found that notebook!” shouted the man.
“Of course.”
“You had no right to read it. The notebook was mine. I’ll have the law
on you for reading it.”
“The law will be interested in that notebook, Hanleigh. You’re none too
anxious to let the police see it, or Mr. Jefferson either.”
The shot told. Hanleigh’s lips curved in a snarl.
“What if Jefferson does see the notebook? What do I care if you turn it
over to him or to the police? It won’t do any of you any good. The only
important thing in the whole book is written in cipher, and I defy you
to solve it!”
He sat back, triumphantly.
“We have solved it,” Joe told him.
“What?”
Hanleigh started forward, his eyes staring.
“We solved the cipher.”
Consternation was written on Hanleigh’s face. He groaned.
“You didn’t—you haven’t found it?” he gasped.
“Found what?”
The man’s eyes became cunning.
“Don’t you know?”
Frank shook his head.
“We have found nothing, so far. I think you’d better tell us what you
were looking for. What should we have found?”
Hanleigh sat back, sighing with relief.
“There is nothing,” he said. “Not now.”
“Why—have you found it already?”
He nodded.
“Yes. I found it several days ago. There is nothing for you boys to gain
by looking further.”
“Then why,” asked Joe, “did you come back here to-day?”
Hanleigh licked his lips, and was silent.
“You’re bluffing again, Hanleigh,” said Frank. “If you had found what
you were looking for, you wouldn’t have kept coming back to the cabin.
You found yourself up against the same problem that we did. We searched
that chimney, high and low—and found nothing. Neither did you.”
Hanleigh shrugged.
“I’ve talked too much. You won’t get any more out of me. I wish I had
kept my mouth shut.”
“Just as you wish, Hanleigh,” remarked Frank casually. “I think we’re
all in the same fix. You don’t know any more than we do. But I warn you
that we will keep an eye on you. If you do learn the secret of the
chimney, you won’t keep it.”
Hanleigh laughed sneeringly.
“Then you’ll wait a long time——”
He was interrupted by a startling sound.
The shrieking wind had proved too much for the second of the tall trees
that towered above the cabin. It gave way before the gale. With an
ominous crackling, with branches snapping like pistol shots, it began to
fall. The boys could hear the gathering roar as the great tree plunged
down toward the roof of the cabin.
Hanleigh leaped to his feet in fright, then sagged helplessly against
the wall as his injured ankle refused to support his weight.
“We’re done for!” he shouted, in terror. “The cabin is falling in!”
Crash!
The tree had struck the chimney. There was a deluge of stones on the
roof. The boys cowered in the kitchen. If the roof gave, they might be
seriously injured. Hanleigh, a picture of abject fright, crouched in the
corner.
With a hideous roar, the chimney collapsed.
At the same time, the great tree went sweeping down past the side of the
cabin. When it struck the chimney its downward course had been diverted.
The falling stones broke great holes in the roof of the cabin and came
crashing down into the living room. A cloud of dust rose from the
fireplace. A stone crashed to the floor, rebounded and smashed a pane of
glass. It seemed as though the din would never end.
“Let’s get out of here!” Hanleigh was babbling, white with fear. “Let’s
get out. We’ll be killed! The whole place is coming down about our
ears.”
“We’re all right!” snapped Frank. “Be quiet!”
Had any of them been in the living room they would probably have been
seriously injured. The weight of the fallen chimney had broken in the
roof and stones were still crashing through to the floor below. The
fireplace was wrecked.
At last the uproar died away. Snow was sifting through the hole in the
roof, and when Frank peeped through the doorway he could see the jagged
fragments of the chimney rising above the gap.
“I guess it’s all over now,” he said calmly.
Chet restrained him.
“You’re not going in there?” he said. “Frank, don’t be foolish! You’ll
be killed!”
“There won’t be any more falling stones. The rest of the chimney is
pretty firm. I’m anxious to investigate. Where’s that flashlight?”
“I’m coming, too,” declared Joe, realizing Frank’s motive. “This may be
a lucky thing for all of us.”
“Lucky?” groaned Biff. “Do you call it lucky to have the chimney fall in
and wreck the place?”
“We’ll see.”
Frank picked up the flashlight. He looked out into the living room
again. It was a scene of desolation. Great stones, and quantities of
débris, dust, and mortar lay all about. Then, followed by Joe, he left
the kitchen and picked his way among the rubbish over to the fireplace.