“Look there.”
Chick pointed to the stone building, not to its grim walls and black windows, from which not a twinkle of light could be seen—but higher, to a point above its low, flat roof.
In the middle of it was a scuttle and glass skylight—and Stuart Floyd had made one mistake that was to bring disaster.
In opening the trapdoor in the ceiling, which was nearly directly above the melting pot, he had forgotten the skylight in a line with the trapdoor.
Chick and Patsy had not, till then, looked up in that direction for a clew.
Now, however, both could see the faint glow that came up from below and stood out in relief, as it were, against the surrounding night gloom.
It was like the glow shed out from the open door of a brightly lighted hall.
“Holy smoke!” Patsy muttered, with a quick thrill. “There’s some one in the old stone crib.”
“More than one, Patsy, I suspect,” Chick whispered.
“Can we get in?”