“One thing we know, anyway,” decided Joe. “Whatever is behind the rumpus, there’s something in all this talk about the Ghost of Alligator Swamp.”
“There’s usually a little fire underneath a lot of smoke,” was Captain Halstead’s answer.
Joe Dawson went to sleep very soon. Not so with Tom Halstead, who lay tossing a long time, thinking over that letter and its sudden disappearance.
“However, there’s no doubt about Dixon, now, anyway,” Halstead reflected. “I’ll watch him from now on. Somehow, he’ll take enough rope, sooner or later, to hang himself.”
He was thinking of that when he dropped asleep. How long he slept he did not know. It was some time well along in the night when every human being in the bungalow was awakened by the sharp crashing of breaking glass. After the happenings of the early evening all the party were sleeping lightly.
Tom and Joe hit the floor with their feet almost in the same second. While Dawson raced to a window, throwing it up, young Halstead began hastily to throw on his clothing.
From the two adjoining rooms, occupied by the Tremaines and Miss Silsbee, came the sound of women’s voices, talking excitedly.
“I didn’t see anything,” reported Joe, bustling back, “though the racket was on this side of the house.”
As Tom Halstead darted into the hallway he encountered Henry Tremaine. They raced down stairs together, Joe coming next, with Dixon promptly after him. Then Jeff arrived at the foot of the stairs. Ham Mockus, as might have been expected, did not put in an appearance.