"Dere's a pubble!" muttered Carl.
"In the street on the other side of Hooligan's," said Matt. "It's getting so you can hear automobiles at any time of the day or night."
"But Hooligan's house faces a street where no one lives that's able to own an automobile," spoke up Brady.
"Somebody else who doesn't live on the street is going through."
"The machine had stopped. When we heard it it was just starting. Besides, it's a poor street, and no machine would come that way unless the driver blundered into the thoroughfare. I don't like it. Hurry up, King, and find out what's going on, if you can."
Matt lost no more time, but gained the alley, climbed a rickety fence on the other side, and stood in the back yard of the Hooligan home.
The house was a small, one-story affair, shabby even in that faint light, and the back yard was waist high with weeds. It was quite plain that Hooligan's being away in summer was a bad thing for his home place.
Matt approached the house cautiously and went completely around it. There was no light anywhere, and no sounds came from within.
"Mrs. Hooligan has probably gone to bed," he thought. "If I was absolutely sure that Pete and Whipple had not got back, I'd rap on the door and try to get in in that way."
While it seemed reasonable to suppose that the two rascals were still absent from the place, yet Matt did not want to run the risk of trouble by pounding on the door for Mrs. Hooligan.