“Is anybody living there now?”
The others shook their heads. “No one has lived there since the murder and I don’t think any one ever will,” said Frank Hardy. “The house is too far out of the way, for one thing, and then—the stories that have been going around—”
“Well, I won’t say I believe any place is haunted, but the Polucca place is certainly strange. There have been queer lights seen there at night. On stormy nights, particularly. And once a motorist had a breakdown near there, so he went up to the house for help. He didn’t know anything about the history of the place. He got the scare of his life!”
“What happened?”
“He decided when he went into the front yard that the place was deserted, and he was just going to turn away when he saw an old man standing at one of the upper windows, looking at him. He called out, and the old man went away, and although the motorist hunted all through the house he didn’t find any trace of the old chap. So he left that place as quickly as he could.”
“I don’t blame him,” remarked Jerry. “But the house sounds interesting. I’m game to visit it.”
“So am I!” declared the others.
“Lead on!” laughed Chet. “It’ll be a brave ghost that will tackle the whole five of us.”
Jerry clambered on behind Chet, and Biff mounted Joe’s motorcycle. The machines roared, and the little cavalcade started on its way down the shore road toward the house on the cliff.
Instead of being an aimless trip, the outing had now assumed all the aspects of an adventure. With the exception of Jerry, the boys had all passed by the Polucca place at one time or another, but none had ever ventured off the main road to explore the deserted place.