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Radio Boys Trailing a Voice; Or, Solving a Wireless Mystery

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<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2> <h3>GROPING IN DARKNESS</h3></div> Herb tugged gently and gave another yell of delight when whatever was attached to the handle yielded grudgingly to the pull. “It’s the trap door, fellows!” he cried. “Move over a bit, Bob, till I pull the thing down.” Bob, who, about this time, was finding Herb’s weight not any too comfortable, moved over, and, in doing so, stumbled, nearly pitching himself and Herb to the floor. As it was, Herb lost his balance and leaped wildly. He landed on his feet and reached out a hand to find Bob. “Of all the tough luck,” he groaned. “There I had the thing in my hand and now we’ve gone and lost it again.” “Sorry. But stop your groaning and get busy,” Bob commanded him. “I haven’t moved from this spot, so if you get up on my shoulders again you ought to be able to get hold of the handle easily enough.” 107 So, hoisted and pushed by Joe and Jimmy, Herb finally regained his perch and felt for the handle. He found it, and this time pulled the door so far open that the boys could see through the opening in the barn floor. “If somebody can hold that door,” panted Herb, “I think I can get through this hole. Grab hold, boy. It sure is heavy.” So Joe caught the door as it swung downward and Herb scrambled through the aperture. Bob gave a grunt of relief as the weight was taken from his shoulders. “You’re next, Joe,” Bob was saying when Jimmy came stumbling up, carrying something that banged against Bob’s legs. “I’ve got it,” he panted. “Had an idea I might find something like it. Trust your Uncle Jimmy——” “For the love of butter, what are you raving about?” interrupted Joe, and Jimmy proudly exhibited his prize. “A soap box,” he said. “And a good big one, too. If we stand on that we can reach the opening easily.” “Good for you, Doughnuts,” cried Bob, joyfully seizing upon the soap box. “This beats playing the human footstool all hollow. Jump up on it, Jimmy, and see how quick you can get out of here.” 108 Jimmy needed no second invitation. He scrambled up on the tall box, and by stretching up on tip toe could just manage to get his fingers over the edge of the flooring above. “Give me a boost, some one,” he commanded, and Bob obligingly administered the boost. Joe was next. Bob went last, holding the trap door with his foot to keep it from closing too quickly. Once upon the floor of the barn he took his foot away and the door banged to with a snap, being balanced by a rope and weight above. “Well, there’s that!” exclaimed Bob, eyeing the closed door with satisfaction. “If Cassey thought he was going to fool us long, he sure was mistaken.” “Maybe he’s hiding around here somewhere,” suggested Herb, lowering his voice to a whisper. “No such luck,” replied Bob. “I’d be willing to wager that the moment we struck bottom there, Cassey and his friends beat it away from here as fast as their legs could take them.” “Don’t you think we’d better look around a little bit, anyway?” suggested Joe. “It wouldn’t do any harm,” agreed Bob. “But first let’s have a look outside. We don’t want to overlook any clues.” The boys thrashed around the bushes about the barn until they were satisfied no one was hiding 109 there and then returned to the barn. They were curious to find out just how they had been shot through that trap door. They thought at first that it was perhaps worked by some sort of apparatus, but they found that this was not the case. They found by experimenting that the trap door yielded easily to their weight, and decided that it had been their combined rush upon Cassey that had done the trick. The weight of the four of them upon it had shot the door down so rapidly that they had not had time even to know what was happening to them, much less scramble to safety. Then it had shut on them. “It couldn’t have worked better for them,” said Herb, as they turned toward the door of the barn. “I bet they’re laughing yet at the way they put things over.” “Let ’em laugh,” said Bob, adding fiercely: “But I bet you anything that the last laugh will be ours!” “I wonder what Cassey was doing here, anyway,” said Jimmy, as they walked slowly homeward. “It was lucky, wasn’t it, that we happened along when we did?” “I don’t see where it’s so lucky,” grumbled Joe. “We’re no nearer catching him now than we ever were.” “Except that we know he’s around this 110 locality,” put in Bob. “I guess the police will be glad to know that.” “Oh! are you going to tell the police?” asked Jimmy, whose thoughts had been upon what he was going to get for dinner. “Of course,” said Bob. “He’s an escaped criminal, and it’s up to us to tell the police all we know about him.” “I only wish we knew more to tell,” said Joe disconsolately. Since they had been flung through the trap door, Joe had called himself every unpleasant name he could think of for his carelessness. If he had stayed at the door where he belonged, there would have been one of them left to grapple with Dan Cassey. Probably the two men who had been with Cassey when they had surprised him had not been anywhere around. They belonged to the type of criminal that always thinks of its own safety first. Probably they had not been anywhere near the barn. And if it had been only Dan Cassey and himself, well, he, Joe, could at least have given the scoundrel a black eye—maybe captured him. He said something of this to his chums, but they laughed at him. “Stop your grouching,” said Bob. “Haven’t we already agreed that there’s no use crying over 111 spilled milk? And, anyway, you just watch out. We’ll get Cassey yet.” As soon as the boys reached town they went straight to the police station and told the story of their encounter with Cassey to the grizzled old chief, who nodded his head grimly and thanked them for the information. “I’ll send some men out right away,” he told them. “If there’s a criminal in those woods, they’re sure to get him before dark. It’s too bad you lads couldn’t have got him yourselves. It would sure have been a feather in your caps!” “Why doesn’t he rub it in?” grumbled Joe, as they turned at last toward home and dinner. “He ought to know we feel mad enough about it.” “Well,” said Bob, “if the police round him up, because of our information, it will be almost as good as though we’d caught him ourselves. I wouldn’t,” he added, with a glint in his eye, “exactly like to be in Cassey’s shoes, now.” <hr class='major' /> <div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> 112 <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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