He was now almost to the rustic bridge that cut across the stream through the marsh at the head of the lake. Water shone glassily through the trees at his right hand. A huddled form loomed ahead in the path beyond the bridge, showing ghostly in the pale beam of the lamp.
“Jerry!”
“That you, Jake?” came his brother’s voice.
“Jerry—what’s the matter? Are you all right?”
“Sure.” Jerry rose and limped toward him. “I heard voices up the hill, and thought it might be you. Who’s with you?”
“I left that Jones kid up there—he got a stitch in his side. But are you sure you’re not hurt?”
“I got off into the marsh, and banged into some birch trees, that’s all. To-night it seems to be my turn to chase around in the dark and bump into things. But I’m sure sorry I spoiled the act.”
“That’s all right, now I’m sure you’re safe,” answered Jake with relief. “You saw him—the man?”
“Clear as daylight. I happened to be looking out the little window in the top of the lodge, just about the time you got into the box, and I saw him sneaking down from the kitchen. He must have been prowling around again, looking for something to eat, and thought it was a good time to break in, when everybody was watching the show.”
“And you went after him?”