I think Mr. Stockton ought to
know about it, but I don't see any way of informing him. I wish I
could have a talk with Mort Decker. Maybe he has found out something."
Once he got thinking in this strain Bert found it hard to get his mind
off the matter. As he had nothing in particular to do, he decided to
take a stroll past the mysterious mansion. He knew of a road, through
the woods, that would bring him to the rear of the house, without any
one seeing him.
He started off, passing through the back streets of the village, as he
did not want to meet any of his chums just then. In a little while he
was in the forest, and, proceeding along leisurely, so that if any
persons did observe him they would not think he had any particular
object, he reached the rear of the queer house. It seemed to be
deserted. The shutters on the back were tightly closed, and there was
no sign of life.
"A queer old place," mused the boy. "I wonder what--"
His musing was cut short by a sudden opening of the shutters on the
topmost window. They were thrown violently back, as though whatever
fastened them had been broken. At the same moment a hand was thrust
out.
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