"No," answered Matt gravely, "I don't think——"
He was interrupted by some one coming in at the front door, and stopped abruptly.
"There's Sercomb now," he whispered. "Let's hear what he's got to say for himself. Mind you don't let out anything about my clue. When you had your trouble, I ran in here from the other room and lent a hand."
"Are you up there?" came Sercomb's voice. "I can't find a soul about the place."
From the road the boys could hear the muffled pounding of a motor. And they knew, even as Sercomb spoke, that he was not telling the truth.
[CHAPTER VIII.]
THE KETTLE CONTINUES TO BOIL.
Sercomb came up-stairs and stepped into the room. Daylight was just coming in through the windows, and the gray of the morning and the yellow of the lamplight gave Sercomb's face a ghastly look. Nevertheless, it was a frank and open face—as always.
"Now, Dick," cried Sercomb, "what in the world has been going on here? Do you mean to say that some one came into this room and attacked you?"