"That is strange——" he began, and then tried the door, to find it unlocked. Another key was on the inside.
The room was pitch dark, only a dim lamp being lighted in the rear of the long hallway. Jack stepped forward to get a match from a bureau, and as he did so he stumbled over something on the floor and pitched headlong.
"Oh!" he gasped, and then gave a sudden shudder, for he had felt the body of someone beside him. "Be careful," he went on. "Make a light, quick! Here is someone on the floor! I'm afraid it's dad!"
The others piled into the room, and Randy, who happened to have some matches in his pocket, struck a light and lit the lamp.
There, on the floor of the bedroom, lay Dick Rover. There was a small cut on his left temple from which the blood was flowing. He was breathing heavily, and evidently trying to speak.
"Dad! Dad! what happened to you?" cried Jack hoarsely, as he bent over and raised his parent up.
"He's been hurt!" exclaimed Fred. "See the cut on his forehead. Wait—I'll get some water."
He made a dash for the pitcher and also for a towel, and while Jack supported his father on his arm the others bathed Dick Rover's face and washed away the trickling blood.
"He's been hit," declared Randy. "See the lump on the back of his head," and he pointed it out.
Presently Dick Rover opened his eyes and stared vacantly at the anxious lads.