The stout chap sighed deeply, but made no actual reply. It was with very evident distaste, however, that he followed the others past the pool and on through the tall grass to the front porch.
The wooden steps were rotted into fragments, and as the boys scrambled up without their aid, they felt the old flooring give dangerously under their feet. The door itself seemed strong enough, however. Though streaked and weathered and bare of paint, it sounded hard and firm under the vigorous rapping of Cavanaugh’s knuckles.
The knock echoed curiously, with hollow, prolonged reverberations.
“Sounds empty,” remarked Cavvy, intently listening.
“Like Rit’s stomach,” grinned Micky, giving Ritter a sudden poke in that region which made him jump nervously.
“Haven’t you any sense?” he snapped irritably.
“It is empty,” spoke up Champ Ferris suddenly. He had been peering curiously through a broken pane in the narrow window beside the door. “There’s not a darn thing in the hall that I can see but a couple of boxes and a mess of dirt and rubbish.”
Cavanaugh waited a few moments and then knocked again. By this time the silence and desolation of the place was beginning to wear upon the spirits of others than Ritter. A frankly deserted house often has interesting possibilities. But this gloomy ruin, so far from the unfrequented road, that appeared to be the hiding place of a mysterious unknown, was something quite different.
“Funny,” commented Cavvy presently, in an unconsciously lowered tone. “He must have heard that. I wonder why he doesn’t answer.... Well, suppose we try the back door.”
They left the sagging porch and circled the house in silence. The path ran along this side and was the only thing which showed the slightest trace of use. Everything else was overgrown with grass and weeds.