There was no hesitation on the groom’s part now. He sprang up the second ladder and went along under the roof, but only to come back shaking his head.
“No one up there, sir.”
“Are you sure he did not come down!” cried the doctor, as Peter lifted a rough trap at the side, through which, in bygone days, the horses’ hay had been thrust down.
“Quite sure, sir,” shouted back Dan’l. “I just see his legs coming down, and he snatched ’em up again, and slammed the trap.”
“The young rascal!” said the doctor; “he’s here somewhere. There must be some loose boards under which he is hidden.”
But there was not a loose board big enough to hide Bob Dimsted; and after another search the doctor rubbed his head in a perplexed manner.
“Shall I come up, sir, and have a look?” said Dan’l.
“No, no. Stay where you are, and keep a sharp look-out,” cried the doctor. “Why, look here,” he continued to Helen; “the young scoundrel has been leading a nice life here, like a Robinson Crusoe in an uninhabited island. Ah! at last!” shouted the doctor, staring straight before him; “there he is. Here, Peter, hand me the gun!”
Peter stared at his master, whose eyes twinkled with satisfaction, for his feint had had the desired effect—that of startling the hiding intruder.
As the doctor’s words rang out there was a strange rustling sound overhead; and, as they all looked up, there came a loud crack, then another and another, and right up, nearly to the ridge of the roof, a leg came through, and then its fellow, in company with a shower of broken tiles, which rattled upon the rough floor of the loft.