The detective considered this for a moment. At last he sighed. “Yes, the risk is too great!” he said. “And I’ve let you take too many risks already. We’d better go back to town.” Having arrived at this decision, they moved slowly across the grass of the yard, heading toward the bushes that flanked the lane. The great bulk of the old stone house loomed heavily and darkly in the night. Then, suddenly, they heard a harsh sound that struck terror into their hearts—the clatter of the trapdoor being raised! CHAPTER XXII INTO THE HAUNTED HOUSE A hoarse shout came through the darkness. “Chief! Redhead! They’ve got away. Watch for ’em!” Some one was scrambling through the opening in the shed, bellowing in a frantic voice, warning the other smugglers of the escape. “Into the house!” snapped Fenton Hardy. He began to run swiftly across the yard toward the big gloomy house. Frank and Joe followed. The man in the shed saw the moving figures. The darkness was pierced by a flash of crimson and a revolver barked three times. From the lane came sounds of running feet. A man was shouting: “What is it? What’s the matter?” “They’ve got away! Hardy and them boys! They’ve escaped. Look! There they are now—running across the yard!” The revolver spoke again. But the shots were wild, for the detective and his sons were soon lost to view in the shadows of the house. With the uproar growing in volume behind them, they fled for the shelter of the building. It was their only refuge. If they attempted to escape to the road they would be almost certain of meeting some of the smugglers. They could not go back down the passageway. If they retreated they would be driven to the verge of the cliff. Fenton Hardy sped around to the back door and flung it open. The fugitives raced into the kitchen and closed the door behind them. Out of the darkness came a frightened voice. “Who’s there?” It was so sudden and unexpected that their pulses leaped. They made no answer. “Who’s there, I say? Is it you, Redhead?” Still they did not reply. Fenton Hardy crept through the darkness in the direction of the voice. “Speak! Quick! Speak, or I’ll fire!” The boys heard a sudden, scrambling sound. Their father had thrown himself upon the other man. The boys rushed in on the two struggling figures. There was a deafening roar and a streak of flame. The man of the house had been armed with a shotgun, and in the struggle it had exploded. Fortunately, the Hardy boys were not standing in the path of the shot. But the noise had attracted the attention of the smugglers outside the house, and in a few seconds the back door was flung open. “They’re in here!” some one yelled. “They’re in the house!” Fenton Hardy flung to one side the man with whom he had been struggling. “Upstairs!” he called out to the two boys and ran on into the next room.