But not on the stairs, nor even to the adventurous eyes which shortly afterwards peered out upon the “deck” above, did there appear any sign of boy or man or apple-hunting cow. Such a gale as was sweeping through the sashless frame of the bell-tower and across the vacant level of the deck at that moment! It laid the wing of Bar Vernon’s subtle invention so very flat that the tolling ceased and even the uplifted lanterns failed to discover it. The combined light of the latter, moreover, convinced the keen eyes of George Brayton that no human form was lurking among the cross-pieces of the bell-frame in its nook overhead. “Not a living soul, there or here,” solemnly exclaimed one of the trustees. “No rope,” added another. “It’s an awful mystery,” exclaimed a third. “Ghosts from Mrs. Wood’s,” suggested a sepulchral voice behind them, and although they all knew it came from the lips of Zebedee Fuller, there was a very general disposition to regard their search as completed. “He’s got away, whoever he was,” remarked George Brayton, “but the question is, how?” Did the bell mean to laugh at them? They were halfway down the stairway just then, and the tolling burst forth in a sudden fit of half frantic violence that almost made one of the trustees lose his footing. That was quite enough for George Brayton, however, and he quietly said to the rest: “I’m going back. Please tell Mr. Vernon I wish he would come up here.” “Now you’re in for it,” said Val, as he heard the message delivered. “No, Val,” said Bar, “it’s all right. If I don’t go up they’ll find it out. I must shut it off for this time.” “Shall I come along?” “Better not. One’s enough.” One would indeed have been enough, and Zeb Fuller made two. That would have been altogether too much, if there had not somehow dimly dawned on Zebedee’s mind the idea that it was his duty to keep George Brayton’s attention as much as possible. Bar found the two sitting together at the top of the stairs waiting for him, but he stepped lightly past them and out upon the deck. It was the work of an instant, as he seemed to peer out upon the roof through that western window. The end of the rope was detached from the lower “arm” of the van and there was no danger of any more noise just then. “Vernon,” said Brayton, “do you think you could climb up there such a night as this without danger?” “Certainly,” said Bar. “Will you?” Bar’s reply, to the intense admiration of Zeb Fuller, who would scarcely have undertaken it himself, except as out-and-out “mischief,” was to climb rapidly and lightly up, till he reached the rafters beside the bell. “Nobody here, Mr. Brayton,” he shouted. “Nobody’d want to sit here and toll, anyhow!” “Come down, then. I thought as much,” replied Brayton. Bar was down with the rapidity of a young monkey, for he now knew every inch of the way. “Have you examined the roof?” he asked of Brayton.