“Now, Songbird, you’ve got to be back here by four, or half after, at the latest,” said Dick as he and his brothers and Stanley got out. “No spooning with Minnie till six.”
“Huh! I don’t spoon,” grumbled the would-be poet. “I am—er—only going to show her some new verses I wrote. They are entitled—”
“Keep them for Minnie!” cried Sam. “And remember what Dick said. We are not going to hang around here after dark.”
“Scared already?” asked Songbird.
“No, but enough of this place is enough, that’s all.”
“I’ll be back, don’t worry,” said Songbird, and away he drove at a swift gait, leaving the Rovers and Stanley in the roadway in front of the house said to be haunted.
It was certainly a lonely spot, no other house being in sight, for Rushville lay under the brow of a hill. The boys stood still and listened. Not a sound broke the stillness that surrounded the deserted house.
“It sure is a ghostlike place,” remarked Stanley. “I shouldn’t care to come here at midnight.”
“Oh, that wouldn’t make any difference, if you had a light,” answered Dick. The thought of a ghost had never bothered him very much.
Boldly the four boys entered what had once been a fine garden. The pathway was now overrun with weeds and bushes, and they had to pick their way with care. Then they ascended the piazza, the flooring of which was much decayed.
“Look out that you don’t fall through somewhere, and break a leg,” cautioned Tom. “This is worse than it looks from the outside.”
“Wait till we get inside,” said Sam. “Glad we brought a lantern.” For a light had been taken along at the last minute.
They pushed open the front door and entered the broad hall. As they did so they heard a noise at the rear of the place.
“What was that?” asked Stanley nervously.
“Sounded like a door closing,” answered Dick.
“Hello!” called out Tom. “Is any one here?”
To this call there was no answer. Nor was the noise they had heard repeated.
“Come on,” said Dick bravely. “I am going to walk right through the house, room by room, from top to bottom.”
“And we’ll all go along,” said Tom and Sam.
“Well, I am with you,” came from Stanley. But he plainly showed that he did not relish what was before him.
CHAPTER XXV
IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY
The first room the boys entered was the parlor. It was totally dark, the blinds of the windows being tightly closed. It was full of cobwebs, which brushed their cheeks as they passed along.
“Certainly this was a fine mansion in its day,” said Dick, as he threw the rays of the lantern around. “But it is utterly worthless now,” he added as he gazed at the fallen ceilings and rotted woodwork.
“I fancy the ghosts are nothing but rats and bats,” said Tom. “Come on,” he continued. “It’s damp enough to give one the rheumatism.”
From the parlor they passed to a sitting-room. Here there was a huge open fireplace, filled with ashes and cobwebs. As they entered the room they heard a rushing noise in the chimney.
“What’s that?” cried Stanley anxiously.
“Birds,” answered Dick. “I suppose they have made their home in the chimney, since it is not used for fires.”
In a corner of the sitting-room was an old table, and on it several musty books. The boys looked the books over, but found little to interest them. As relics the volumes were of no value.
“Come on to the dining-room,” said Tom. “Maybe we’ll find something good to eat.”
“Ugh! I don’t want anything here,” answered Stanley with a shudder.
“Wouldn’t you like a piece of ghost pie, or some specter doughnuts?” went on Tom, who was bound to have his fun.
“Nothing, thank you, Tom.”
The dining-room of the house was in a wing, and to get to it they had to pass through a pair of folding doors which were all but closed. As they did so all heard a peculiar rustling sound, but from whence it came they could not tell.
“What was that?” asked Sam.
“I don’t know,” answered his oldest brother.
“Say, this room looks as if it had been used lately,” cried Tom, as the rays of the lantern illuminated the apartment. “Why, it’s quite homelike!”
“Maybe some tramps have had their headquarters here,” said Dick. “It would be just like them to single out a spot like this.”
“Yes, provided they weren’t afraid of ghosts,” came from Stanley.
“Tramps aren’t usually afraid of anything but work,” answered Tom dryly. “But this is queer, isn’t it?” he added, as he picked up an empty cigar box. “Somebody must smoke good cigars—these were imported.”
“Here is an empty liquor flask,” said Stanley.
“And here are some empty wine bottles,” added Sam.
“And here are some decks of playing-cards,” put in Dick. “Yes, some persons have certainly used this as a hangout.”
“What is this in the fireplace?” asked Tom as he pointed to something smoking there.
“It certainly has a vile smell!” exclaimed Stanley, making a wry face.
“That shows somebody has been here recently,” was Dick’s comment. “We had better be on guard if they are tramps.”
“I can’t stand that smell,” said Tom. “I am going to get out.”
The stuff in the fireplace, whatever it was, now burned up more brightly. It gave off a peculiar vapor that made the boys dizzy.
Tom turned to a door that led to the kitchen of the house. The door was shut, and he tried in vain to open it. The others were behind him and they, too, tried to open the barrier.
“Must be locked from the other side,” said Tom. “Come on out the way we came in. Gracious! Isn’t that awful stuff that is burning?” he added, for the vapor now filled the room completely.
In sudden alarm the four boys turned back toward the folding doors through which they had entered the dining-room. To their consternation, the doors were tightly shut.
“Who shut these?” asked Dick as he tried to open one of the doors.
“I didn’t,” said Sam.
“Neither did I,” added Tom.
“Nobody touched the doors!” ejaculated Stanley. “It must be some of the ghost’s work.”
“Nonsense!” answered Dick sharply. “Somebody shut the doors—and locked ’em,” he added after trying both. “Hi, you!” he called. “Open these doors, and be quick about it!”
“Thou fool, to come here!” exclaimed a hollow voice from the other side of the doors.
“It’s the ghost! I said it was!” said Stanley,
“It’s somebody fooling us,” answered Tom. “Open the door, or we’ll smash it down!” he added in a loud voice.
Instead of a reply there came a weird groan and then the rattle of some heavy chains. Stanley turned pale and began to tremble, but the Rovers were not much impressed.
“We don’t believe in ghosts, so you might as well let us out!” cried Dick. “That stuff you set on fire is smothering us!”
At this there was a murmur from the next room, but what was said the prisoners did not know.
“Come on, let us get out of a window!” cried Tom. His head was commencing to swim, and he could hardly see.
“Tha—that’s it,” murmured Sam. “Say, I’m—I’m—going—” He did not finish, but sank to the floor in a heap.
“Sam has been overcome!” cried Dick in horror.
“Oh, if only we hadn’t come here!” groaned Stanley. “I—the window—I—am—smothering!” He took another step forward and then fell. Dick tried to pick him up, but went down also, with his brain in a whirl and strange lights flashing before his closed eyes.
For about half a minute after Tom went down nothing was done. Then the door to the kitchen was thrown wide open and four figures appeared. All wore sheets and masks.
“You are sure it won’t kill any of them, Parwick?” asked a voice that sounded like Jerry Koswell’s, and which was far from steady.
“Yes, I’m sure,” answered the voice of a stranger. “But we don’t want to leave them in this room too long. Take ’em below.”
“If we get found out—” said another, and one could readily recognize Flockley’s voice.
“We won’t get found out,” put in a fourth person. It was Larkspur. “Come ahead, and don’t waste time here.”
With great haste the masked ones picked up the three Rovers and Stanley and dragged them into the kitchen of the old house. Then one after another the unconscious ones were taken down into a dark and musty cellar and placed on some straw.
“Now to fix up the evidence!” cried Koswell. “We must be quick, or it may be too late!”
For all of a quarter of an hour the three Rover boys and Stanley Browne lay where they had been placed on the moldy straw. They breathed with difficulty, for the strange vapor still exercised its influence on their lungs.
At last Sam stirred and opened his eyes.
“Wha—what’s the matter with me?” he murmured, and then sat up.
He could see next to nothing, for the cellar was dark. His head ached keenly, and he could not collect his senses. He also felt somewhat sick at the stomach.
“Dick! Tom!” he called. “Where are you?”
There was no reply, but presently he heard somebody stir.
“Don’t—don’t kill me!” murmured Stanley. “Take the ghosts away!”
“Stanley!” called Sam. “Whe—where are we?”
“Who—who is tha—that?” stammered Stanley, sitting up.
“It is I—Sam!”
“Whe—where are we, Sam?”
“I—I don’t know.”
“My head is go—going around like—like a top.”
“So is mine. Tom! Dick!”
“Is that you, Sam?” came faintly from the elder Rover as he opened his eyes.
“Yes. Where is Tom?”
“Here, I guess, beside me.” Dick shook his brother. “Tom! Tom! Wake up!” he cried. But Tom continued to lay quiet with his eyes tightly closed.
Sam was feeling in his pocket for a matchbox, and presently he brought the article forth and made a light. He was still so dizzy he could scarcely see about him. Stanley had fallen back again, gasping for breath.
By the dim light afforded by the match the two brothers looked at Tom. He was gasping in a strange, unnatural fashion.
“I believe he is choking to death!” said Dick hoarsely. “Air! He must have air!” He arose unsteadily to his feet. “Bring him here!”
And he made for a closed cellar window with all the strength he could command.
CHAPTER XXVI
THE EVIDENCE AGAINST THEM
Fortunately a loose brick lay handy and with this Dick smashed out the panes of glass in the cellar window. Another window was opposite, and this he likewise demolished. At once a current of pure air swept through the place.
“Hold him up to the window,” said Dick as he staggered around. And he and Sam raised Tom up as best they could.
“If we could only get outside,” mumbled Sam. His head was aching worse than ever.
“I’ll see what I can do,” answered his oldest brother, and stumbled up the narrow stairs. To his joy, the door above leading to the kitchen of the house was unfastened.
Not without great labor did the two brothers carry Tom to the floor above. Then they went after Stanley, who was conscious, but too weak to walk. As they stumbled around they sent several empty liquor bottles spinning across the floor, and one was smashed into pieces.
“I wish I knew how to revive him,” said Dick as he and Sam placed Tom near the open doorway. “Wonder if there is any water handy?”
“Oh, my poor head!” came from Stanley. “I feel as if I had been drinking for a month!”
“Wonder what it was?” murmured Sam. “I—I can’t make it out at all.”
“Nor I,” added Dick. “But come, we must do what we can for Tom.” And he commenced to loosen his unconscious brother’s tie and collar.
Suddenly a form darkened the outer doorway of the kitchen, and to the surprise of the boys Professor Abner Sharp showed himself. He was accompanied by Professor Blackie.
“Ha! So we have caught you, have we?” cried Professor Sharp, in tones of evident satisfaction. “Nice doings, these, for students of Brill. Aren’t you ashamed of yourselves?” And he glared maliciously at the Rovers and Stanley Browne.
“Oh, Professor, can you—er—help us?” murmured Stanley. “We—er—are in a lot of trouble.”
“So I see,” answered Abner Sharp chillily. “Nice doings, I declare! Don’t you think so?” he added to the other professor.
“It is too bad,” murmured Professor Blackie. “I thought them all rather nice lads.”
Dick’s head was still dizzy, so he could not catch the import of the professor’s words. He continued to work over Tom, who just then opened his eyes.
“Gi—give me a—a drink!” murmured poor Tom. His throat seemed to be on fire.
“Not another drop!” shouted Professor Sharp. “Not one! This is disgraceful! Look at what they have been drinking already!” And he pointed to the bottles scattered around.
“Say! What’s the matter with you?” asked Sam, sleepily and angrily. He was doing his best to pull his wits together, and thus overcome the effects of the strange vapor.
“There is nothing the matter with me!” roared Professor Sharp “The matter is with you, Rover. You have been drinking too much.”
“Me? Drinking?” stammered Sam, “No, sir!”
“Rover, you may as well admit it,” came from Professor Blackie. “It is a sad state of affairs.”
“But I haven’t been drinking.”
“We know better. Look at the evidence!” roared Abner Sharp, pointing to the bottles. “Why, your very clothing smells of rum!” he added, smelling of Dick’s shoulder.
“Sam has told you the truth. We haven’t been drinking,” said Dick.
“Rover, it would be better if you did not add falsehoods to your other shortcomings,” said Professor Blackie. He was usually a very mild man, and had little to say outside of the classroom.
“You are mistaken,” murmured Dick. It was all he could say, for he was still too bewildered to make a clear note of what was going on.
“This one seems to be the worst of all,” said Abner Sharp, turning to Tom. “He must have drunk more than the others.”
“He will have to sleep it off,” answered Professor Blackie. “Too bad! Too bad! Why will young men do such things?” And he shook his head sorrowfully.
“I believe what the note said. This has been a regular hangout for the Rovers and their chums,” said Professor Sharp severely. “It is high time it was broken up.”
“Yes yes,” answered the other instructor How shall we—er—get them back to Brill?”
“I’ll see about that. They must have some sort of a carriage here, or maybe somebody was going to call for them.”
“Shall I take a look around?”
“If you will.”
Professor Blackie looked around the house and grounds and then went through the tangle of a garden to the roadway. He
espied Songbird coming along, driving the team rapidly and singing to himself. Songbird had passed an all-too-short hour with Minnie Sanderson.
“Stop, Powell!” cried the professor.
“I was going to, sir,” answered the would-be poet cheerily. “How is this, Professor Blackie? Did you come to hunt for the ghost, too?”
“Ghost? I came for no ghosts—since there are no ghosts,” was the quiet answer. “Were you to stop here?”
“Yes, sir, to pick up the three Rovers and Stanley Browne. They must be somewhere about. They came to explore the old house and to settle this ghost story.”
“I think they came more for spirits than for ghosts,” answered Professor Blackie dryly, “Then you know all about it, eh?”
“Why, yes.”
“Then you knew they came here to drink and to carouse generally,” went on the instructor, and his voice grew stern.
“Drink? Carouse? What are you talking about?” gasped Songbird. “The Rovers don’t drink at all, and Stanley Browne drinks very little.”
“Of course you wish to shield them, but it will do little good, Powell. Professor Sharp received word of what was going on, and he asked me to accompany him here. We have seen a sad sight. What Doctor Wallington will say when he hears of it, I cannot tell. I am afraid, however, that he will deal severely with the offenders.”
“Professor Blackie, what you say is a riddle to me,” answered Songbird. “I don’t understand you at all.”
“Then come with me, and perhaps you will understand,” was the instructor’s reply, and he led the way to the rear of the deserted house.
All of the students and Professor Sharp were now outside, on or near the back porch. Tom had recovered his senses, and Sam had obtained for him a drink of water from an old well. Much to the astonishment of the students, the professor had caught sight of a liquor flask in Tom’s pocket, and had snatched it away.
“Here is evidence you cannot deny!” cried Abner Sharp in triumph. “All but empty, too!” he added, after shaking the flask and smelling of it.
“How did that—that get in m—my pocket?” mumbled poor Tom. He was still hazy in his mind.
“You probably know better than anybody else,” retorted Professor Sharp. “And you can tell, too, where the liquor went to,” he continued with a sneer.
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