it. But that isn't the answer. We are helping Chip Slider 28 with his search for money that was stolen and hidden, and that ought to be found and returned to its owners. Then it's necessary that we go in this clubhouse and we're going in." 28 "Paul knows the way up through the cellar! Let him get in at the window he got out of and so go up the cellar stairs and open the door for us. There's a key inside, likely," proposed Billy. "Say! how'd you like to take a run and jump off the dock?" answered young Mr. Jones with more fervor than elegance. "No, sir! We can find some other window open!" And Paul was right. A surprise awaited the boys when they reached the west side of the house. (The path from front to rear passed on the east of the building.) The brush and a couple of tall trees grew very close to the walls at the westerly side. Phil was foremost as the friends ventured in that direction. "Look!" he cried suddenly. "A window 29 open, and more than that, it's smashed to smithereens!" 29 Quite true it was. The fragments of glass littered the parched and stunted grass. The sash of the window was raised to its fullest height. A freshly broken branch of a low bush, close by, was evidence that the mischief had been done but recently. The boys could only guess by whom and for what purpose the window had been shattered. The thought came to them that Murky might have been doing some investigating inside. Possibly he was in the house at this very minute. The idea was not a pleasant one to contemplate. "Gee whiz! I'd fade away–I'd shrink up to a pale shadow and perish–actually perish, if ever that fellow got hold of me!" said young Mr. Jones. His voice indicated that perhaps his exaggerated statement might not be so overdrawn as it appeared. "Come on! Give me a lift, somebody," 30 exclaimed Way impatiently. Then, ignoring Billy's prompt offer of a hand to boost him, up he clambered and the next moment stood within. Billy, Paul and Dave followed. 30 The air in the house was close and oppressive. Outside the sun shone hot. Not even a zephyr stirred the leaves. A bluejay shrieked noisily, as if in protest at the visitors' conduct. With something of that "fading away" feeling Paul Jones had
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