"Hush," cried Chet, grasping her arm, and in a tense silence they listened.
Yes, they could not be mistaken—something was surely brushing against the door.
Thank heaven, she had locked it, thought Billie, as she began to feel her hair stand on end again.
Once more came that brushing sound. And then, very distinctly, a sniff!
"Oh, Chet," cried Billie, clutching her brother's arm spasmodically.
"Nervy beggar," muttered Chet. "If I had a gun I'd know what to do. But say," he added, as a happy thought struck him, "there's Dad's!" He was out of bed and across the room before Billie could do more than gasp. Fearfully she followed after.
Luckily Chet had elected to sleep in his parents' room during their absence so as to be nearer Billie, and he had happened to remember the secret hiding place that his father had shown him not long before where he kept his revolver always loaded and ready for action.
"Oh, Chet, do be careful!" whispered Billie, as Chet drew the ugly-looking thing out of the hidden drawer and examined it. "I—I think I'm more afraid of that than I am of the b-burglar."
Chet's only answer was a grim "Come on," from between set young lips.
Fearfully they made their way over to the door.
Their burglar seemed to have gone on to some other room, for they could hear the stealthy padding at the other end of the hall. But now he had turned in their direction.