Just then the moon appeared again.
It showed them a river on one side and a broad expanse of gloomy swamp land on the other.
Night insects were chirping amid the weeds, and frogs were croaking dismally among the waving reeds and rushes.
Off in the centre of the swamp were some tangled trees and bushes, heaps of rocks overgrown with moss and trailing vines, and an object which had the dim outline of being an old rookery of some sort.
It was a dismal, lonesome scene.
Young King Brady moved along the edge of the boggy ground with its little pools of water, tufts of coarse grass and tracts of black, oozing mud.
An old, rotten board walk from the railroad bed to the trees, caught his view and he suddenly called to the old detective:
"I see a light among those trees. Here's a path. Let's follow it into the swamp."
"Be cautious!" warned the old detective. "If those rascals have carried the body from the box to the midst of those trees, they will be on the lookout for any possible pursuers and may give us a warm reception."
"We need not let ourselves be seen," replied the boy.