It was dark in the cellar--too dark for even Tom's comfort, but after
making a series of queer calls, and also supplying the answers, he
returned to the first floor, "intact," as Dorothy announced.
But Tom whispered something to Nat--when the girls were not near enough to
observe him.
"Things down there!" he said. "I could even smell them, and they did not
seem musty, either. Besides, look at everything. Nothing cut up or
damaged, like an old, deserted place. Some one may hang out here."
"The ghost," admitted Nat. "Let's see what it looks like outdoors."
Nat put his hand on the pocket, from which his diminutive revolver could
be seen to be outlined, and when the front door was opened a gust of wind
and snow forced him, as well as Tom, back into shelter.
"Rough," commented Tom, "and almost dark."
"Fierce!" exclaimed Nat in pardonable disgust. "How in the world are we to
get back?"
"Oh, can't we go now?" came from Dorothy. "It seems to be getting worse,
and if we don't get out of here before dark--"
"Oh, let us go!" pleaded Tavia. "I am just scared to death. This sort of
thing is all right for a page or two, but when it gets into a serial--"
"Not very interesting after the first glance, I'll admit," replied Tom;
"but the nearest house must be half a mile away."
"Suppose we run the machine into the shed and start off to walk?"
suggested Nat, now rather uncomfortable because of Tom's hint about the
cellar.
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