“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.
CHAPTER XX
EXPLORING THE TUNNEL
Certain that Slugger Slade would lose no time in putting a safe distance between himself and the Coleson house, the boys turned their attention to the opening in the foundation wall, noting with great interest the ingenious way in which the heavy stone was made to turn on the iron pins at top and bottom, and examining the simple spring-catch, which held the slab in place until released by a pressure on the white stone.
“I wish I had hung onto that flashlight,” said Ned Blake regretfully, as he strove to pierce the inky blackness inside the wall. “We’ll have to depend on candles for our search, I guess. Wait a minute and I’ll bring some.”
Ned was back in a moment, and lighting the tapers, he crept cautiously through the opening followed by the rest of the boys. Within was the usual litter to be found in the cellar of an unfinished house. Broken tubs that had been used for the mixing of mortar; wrecked barrels and boxes of every description choked the space and made movement difficult. Just inside the wall the boys made their first discovery of interest. On a nail driven into a joint of the masonry hung a wig and false beard of coarse white hair and close at hand stood a wooden pickax painted white.
“I guess this puts the lid on one more ghost story,” remarked Ned, as the articles passed from hand to hand. “Somebody certainly went to a lot of trouble to work this ghost scare and we’ve yet to find the reason. There doesn’t seem to be anything of interest at this end of the cellar, but there’s an open way over to the left. Let’s follow it.”