The summons, singularly clear, in the dense silence of the night, was ringing continuously.
“Bob!” cried Tom, scrambling to his feet—“I say, Bob!”
Bob Somers opened his eyes.
“Eh, Tom?” he queried.
“Don’t you hear that bell?”
“Well, I should rather say so.”
The big room looked weird and dismal, with the greenish moonlight streaking across the rough board flooring and showing in queer-shaped patches on the opposite wall.
Bob listened intently, as he jumped up, struck a match, and proceeded to light the lantern.
“Mighty odd, Tom—unless it’s about Willie,” he said. “No; don’t awaken Dave.”
The two tiptoed down-stairs, Tom feeling decidedly creepy sensations coursing along his spine.