They were a little weak in the knees, and the six-mile tramp down the dusty road wore upon them. But at last they arrived at the barbed-wire fence that blocked the old driveway to the farm. Apparently there was nothing unusual going on, although a huge door had been cut in the front of the hay-barn, and through the roof of one of the smaller buildings a tall iron pipe extended, from which white feathery steam was spurting regularly, showing that machinery was at work within.
Through the orchard ran a long board walk, or so it appeared to the boys, at least. They skirted through the underbrush, seeking a place where a brook entered the Hope property, knowing that there they could find out something by closer observation. As they crossed a little path, a man stepped from behind a tree directly in front of them. So intent had been the boys on the idea that they were Spanish spies, that they had been communicating with one another in most unintelligible gibberish, and their first idea was that they must have betrayed themselves. But the man, who was dressed in a very citified fashion, appeared to be rather glad to see them.
"Halloa, boys!" he said. "Do you live here?"
They shook their heads.
"Well, do you know Professor Woerts?"
"Naw," said Gibb. "Who is he?"
The young man did not reply. "What's going on in there?" he asked. "Eh? Go on, tell us."
But Billy had learned something by this time in the question-asking line. "Who are you?" he put in.
"I'm a reporter for the Evening Detector, and have come here to find out what Professor Woerts is doing. Of course I know something about it, but he won't let any reporters on the premises."
It was evident that the Professor had adopted no half-way measures to keep curious persons away, for a man on horseback, with a shot-gun across his saddle, rode around a corner of the woods inside the fence just at this moment. The boys were for running at once, but the young man in the stiff Derby hat hallooed out: "Heigh there, mister! I want to talk to you."