door with his fists. Still no sound from inside.

"All together, now," urged Dick. "Any---one---want---help?" bawled
six lusty young voices in unison.

"There is only one voice that answers," continued Dick, after
a pause, as he turned to the others. "That's the silent voice
of good sense."

"What does it say, then," challenged Dave.

"That we've done about all we can do here," Dick replied. "All
we know is that a man seemed to have been hurt here. If he was,
he was able to take himself away, and to conceal the signs of
his hurt before going. Therefore we've no further excuse for
meddling around here that I can see."

"Let's get along then," Tom urged. "And---whew! It's after half
past six!"

"You'd better run, then," jeered Dave. "Your stomach won't allow
any more fooling!"

"Now, what ought I to say to a crank like Darry?" demanded Reade,
turning to Prescott.

"You'd better overwhelm him, by saying what the man on the clubhouse
steps said," urged Dick.

"And what was that?" asked Tom eagerly.