Then we'll find the red stuff mixed to a sort of mud, and-----"
"Come along out of this, you ghoul!" uttered Tom almost wrathfully,
as he seized his friend by the arm.
"We'll go to the door," Dick suggested. "Perhaps we can get inside.
At any rate, we can find out whether there is any one inside
who wants help."
Dick put his hand on the doorknob, giving it a turn and a hard push.
"Door's locked tightly now," he announced.
"And it takes human hands to lock a door," Reade observed sagely.
"Is there anyone inside who needs any help?" Prescott called loudly.
All was silent inside. Then Dick played a tattoo on the locked
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.
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