“That was a strange noise,” said Tom, in a whisper. “I wonder what it can be?”
“You can search me,” was Chot’s reply, also in a whisper. “It might be taken for a dozen different things.”
“What, for instance?”
“Well, I don’t believe I’d know just how to guess. It may be in Mr. Lawrence’s room, and again it may have come from the basement.”
“You’re right,” said Tom. “I hadn’t thought of the basement.”
“Well, it’s stopped, anyway. I don’t suppose anyone is going to carry us off.”
“No; but let me be sure the door leading into the hall is locked. It’s best to take no chances.”
Tom tip-toed softly to the door and tried the lock. The boys had fastened the door before going to bed, and Tom found that, apparently, it had not been disturbed. Then going to the windows which looked out over the island to the east, Tom peered into the night. The windows were up, as both boys were great believers in fresh air.
The lodge stood on stilts, as it were, and Tom knew that it was at least seven feet from the ground to the window sill. No chance for anyone to enter the house that way, unless aided by another, or by means of a ladder.
As Tom listened there was not a sound save for the faint stirring of the trees. The breeze had about died out. Off to the left Tom could see several lights glistening across the river, and far in the distance a bright, white glare in the sky marked the location of Rockport.