“Row for the beach above, boys,” continued Henry Burns, “and we will go up to the old house through the woods. I think I know who is up there in the house, and if I am right it means that we may make an important discovery. The man who I think is up there is Mr. Kemble.” “What! The cripple?” asked Tom. “This is another one of Henry Burns’s jokes,” said George. “You’re having lots of fun with us, aren’t you, Henry?” “I tell you I am in earnest,” said Henry Burns. “We won’t burn any lights to-night, and you better make up your mind to that, right off. There’s more serious business ahead of us.” And then, when they had landed on the beach and had drawn the boat noiselessly up on the shore, Henry Burns told them of the adventure he had had on the roof of the hotel. How he had seen the stranger throw off his disguise of weakness, and become, suddenly, a man of strength and action; how he believed the man to be somehow connected with the thieves who had committed the robbery, and how he believed that the man was now up there in the haunted house, though for what purpose he could not tell. It might be he had something to conceal there. “Cracky!” exclaimed Tom, when Henry Burns had finished his story. “This beats ghost hunting all hollow; but we are by no means certain that it is this stranger who is up there.” “No, but I believe as Henry does, that it is he,” said George Warren. “Who else would have any object in being up there this hour of the night? We know from what Henry saw that the man is dangerous, that he seems to be in hiding—” “And that if he should catch one of us spying on him up there in the old house, he wouldn’t hesitate to shoot,” interrupted young Joe, who would rather have risked the meeting with a legion of ghosts than with one real live thief, armed and desperate. “That’s true enough,” answered Henry Burns; “but we must not give him that opportunity, if it is he, which, of course, we’re by no means sure of. At any rate, we want to see and not be seen by whoever is there, and we cannot go any too quietly.” Then, as the tide was rising, and they might be gone some time, they lifted the dory and carried it up out of the reach of high water, after which they began the ascent of the hill. There was not a breath of wind stirring, and there was not a sound of life in the woods. The tide crept in softly, and not even a wave could be heard on the shore. Out through the trees they could see, as they climbed, glimpses of the water, calm and placid as a mill-pond, lit up dimly by the moonlight shining through a patchwork of clouds that covered all the sky. Beyond this the darkness of the village was accentuated by a light here and there, glimmering from the window of some cottage.