He had not heard that any one had taken the Polucca house. On account of the unenviable fame of the place it was hardly likely that a new tenant could move in without arousing considerable comment in Bayport. But this had evidently happened. For a while the boys remained at the edge of the bushes watching the place. Then they saw a woman come out to the clothesline at the back of the house. She carried a basket of clothes, and these she began hanging up on the line. Shortly afterward a man came out, strode across the yard to the woodshed and began chopping wood. The boys looked at one another in consternation. They had expected to find the same sinister and deserted place they had visited previously. Instead, they had arrived on a scene of domestic peace and comfort. They could not understand it. “Not much use staying in hiding,” whispered Frank. “Let’s get together and walk right up and question these people.” He gave a low whistle, then emerged from the bushes into the lane. His companions followed. In a short time they were joined by Joe and the other boys. All were deeply puzzled by the remarkable change that had come over the Polucca place. “This beats anything I ever heard of,” declared Joe. “It looks as if some farmer has taken the place, but it’s queer we hadn’t heard of it. Everybody in Bayport would be talking about it if they knew some one had nerve enough to take over the Polucca farm.” “I’m not satisfied yet,” Frank said. “We’ll go up and question these people.” Accordingly, the six boys walked boldly out of the lane and across the yard. The man in the woodshed saw them first and put down his axe, staring at them with an expression of annoyance on his face. The woman at the clothesline heard their footsteps and turned, facing them, her hands upon her hips. She was hard-faced and tight-lipped, with gaunt features. She was not prepossessing and her untidy garb did not impress the boys favorably. “What do you want?” demanded the man, emerging from the woodshed. He was short and thin with close-cropped hair, and he was in need of a shave. His complexion was swarthy and he had narrow eyes under coarse, black brows. His manner was far from polite as he advanced upon the boys. At the same time another man came out of the kitchen and stood on the steps. He was stout and red-haired and had a thick mustache. As he stood there in his shirt-sleeves he glared pugnaciously at the sextette. “Yeah, what’s the big idea?” he asked. “We didn’t know any one was living here,” explained Frank, edging over to the kitchen door. He wanted to get a look inside the house if possible. “Well, there is,” said the red-haired man. “We’re livin’ here now, and I can’t see that it’s any of your business. What are you snooping around here for?” “We aren’t snooping,” said Frank quietly. “We are looking for a man who has disappeared from Bayport.” “Humph!” grunted the woman. “What makes you think he might be around here?” asked the red-headed man.