“They’re going to rush us by the back stairs!”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” said Mr. Hardy. “I wonder if there is any way of reaching the attic.”
Frank took the flashlight from his pocket and switched it on. Just a few yards away he could distinguish a flight of stairs leading up to a trapdoor in the ceiling. At the same time he could hear a stealthy noise at the bottom of another flight of steps that led to the kitchen.
“Hurry!” he whispered, and the three moved silently down the hall until they reached the steps.
Joe went up first and Frank followed with the light, while Fenton Hardy stood at the bottom of the steps to cover their retreat with the revolver.
When Joe reached the trapdoor he pushed at it. At first it proved stubborn and would not open. There was an anxious moment while he strove to force it open but in spite of all his efforts it would not budge.
“What’s the matter?” asked Frank from below.
“It won’t open.”
Frank went on up the few remaining steps and added his efforts to those of his brother. Together they shoved at the trapdoor, and at last it moved, then opened, falling back with a loud crash.
There was a yell from the stairs.