The lads cast bewildered looks about them.
“Blood,” cried Phil aghast, pointing a trembling finger at a dark stain on the polished floor.
He raised his hand for silence; but there was no sound audible save the beating of their own hearts and the heavy breathing of the soldiers.
Each floor of the house was searched diligently, but no trace could be found of the missing sailor; the house was empty of human beings.
The boys were quite overwhelmed at the suddenness of the blow; O’Neil was perhaps done to death almost within sound of their voices.
“The men who have done this deed must yet be in the house,” Sydney exclaimed; “they could not have escaped without detection; there must be a secret chamber. We must hunt for it; we cannot give up.”
Despairingly the searchers moved about from room to room, tapping the wall and floor in a vain effort to discover the door they felt sure must be there concealed; their exertions were for naught.
The lads finally came back to the telltale signs on the floor.
“Look there,” cried Phil excitedly, putting his finger on a large hole in the plastered wall. “We heard the shot; it was from O’Neil’s revolver, and there’s where it struck. If he fired at a man then that’s his blood there on the floor, not O’Neil’s; he never misses his aim; that bullet must have gone through a man’s chest; it’s just the right height.”
“Then we’ll catch them,” Sydney cried, a ring of hope in his voice, “for they can’t go far with a wounded man.”