Peace and darkness shrouded the house. Jack walked up and down several times on the wrong side of the street. Then, growing bold he dashed across the street and into the yard. Not thinking it wise to approach the house, he crept noiselessly along the fence and all around the yard. There seemed to be not a soul around; except for the wind, nothing else seemed to stir. He approached the wall of the house and tried to peek into a window. But it was dark and, naturally, he saw nothing.
Cautiously, Jack approached the front of the house. Suddenly he stopped and held his breath. He heard a slight rumbling noise. He listened closely. Again the same noise. “Mice or rats,” he told himself. He moved forward again then, flattening himself out against the wall, he waited. A woman passed down the street. He took out his searchlight which he was now glad he had brought, and moved forward again to the front of the house. Putting his hand on the knob, he turned it and the door opened slightly. Wondering how it was that the hinges, probably rusty, did not squeak, he pushed the door wider open.
He flashed his light on and stepped quickly into the hall and closed the door behind him. He threw a beam of light on the papers which Paul had pointed out to him; they were still there, in the same spot and untouched. Again he thought he heard a slight rumbling noise. Backing up close against the wall, he listened. Yes, there it was again. Rats or mice, he thought to himself. For a fraction of a second he hesitated. What was he doing in here, he asked himself. Did he expect to find Mr. Grey in the house? If so, what would he do if he did? Beside, Paul, Ken and he had been in the house only that morning.
Brushing aside all the doubts in his mind, he tiptoed along the hall. He passed one door, the second door. He retraced his steps and threw a beam of light upon the stairway. Suddenly he felt a sharp blow on the back of his head. His knees gave way and before he crashed to the floor, he sensed a figure fleeing past him and out through the door. As he fell to the floor he saw a million colored stars converging upon his eyes. Innumerable distorted thoughts flashed through his mind. Then darkness and he knew no more.
Jack opened his eyes and through a haze saw two figures hovering over him. He reached to the back of his head and writhed with pain. Somebody was bending over him and talking but he could not understand what he was saying; it sounded like buzzing in his ears. He closed his eyes and relaxed. Very suddenly he sat up and looked around. He rubbed his eyes, then the back of his head; he felt a large bump there and touching it made him shiver with pain. “How are you, old boy?” somebody was asking him.
The person bending over him, murmured softly, “How do you feel, Jack old boy?”
The mist before his eyes cleared and in the darkness he made out Paul on his knees in front of him and a short distance away, Ken. He turned his head and he noticed that he was in the open. “W-w-where am I?” he asked, his face distorted with pain as he touched the bump on the back of his head.
“You’re all right,” Paul assured him. “Just tell me how you feel. Any broken bones?” he asked, smiling.
Jack felt himself all over, and answered, “No, I guess not.” Looking into his friend’s smiling face, he also grinned, “Just where am I and what happened to me?” he asked curiously.
“What happened to you, I don’t know; you will have to tell us that. But I can tell you where we are. We are in the yard of—”