It was now nearly one o’clock in the morning. Larry and Mr. Newton had been standing out in front of the Dexter apartments, for Larry did not want his mother to know about the quest, fearing she would worry over it. So, when Mr. Newton called on him, the two had gone outside.
“We can’t do anything more now,” remarked Larry.
“No, and I guess I’ll go home, and go to bed,” said Mr. Newton. “I’m all tired out.”
Bidding Larry good-night, Mr. Newton started off down the street. The neighborhood was rather poorly lighted, the lamps being few and far between. Pondering over the strange mix-up he had become involved in, the reporter was proceeding along rather absent-mindedly.
Suddenly his attention was attracted by someone in the house opposite him opening a window, and shouting:
“Thieves! Murder! Fire! Police!”
“That sounds like trouble,” thought Mr. Newton. “I seem to be going to put in a full night of it.”
“Help! Help! Help!” the voice, which was that of a woman, continued to yell. “I’m being robbed!”
Mr. Newton placed his fingers to his lips, and blew a long, shrill whistle. He thought if there was a policeman in the neighborhood he would hear it, and hurry to the woman’s aid. Meanwhile Mr. Newton decided to do what he could singlehanded.
“What’s the trouble?” he inquired.