They looked around, but at first could find no writings of any kind. But behind one of the shelves, in a crack, they discovered several sheets of paper and took these to the light to read.
"They are parts of letters from Mr. Sobber to his wife," said Dick.
"They must have been written by Tad's father."
"He speaks here of Merrick," added Tom, who was scanning a blurred page.
"Merrick is Mrs. Sobber's brother beyond a doubt."
"From these letters I should say Mr. Sobber had been off on a sea trip,"
continued the eldest Rover boy. "And it looks to me as if he had been an honest man, for he tells his wife that he hopes Merrick will give up his gambling habits."
From the bedroom the boys entered what had been the parlor of the house.
This was almost bare. To one side of the parlor was an entry-way, and here was a stairs leading to the second story and another leading to the cellar.
"Well, shall we go up or down?" queried Dick.
"Let us see what the cellar looks like first," answered Sam. "Perhaps we'll find a pot of gold there."
"Or a few skeletons," put in Tom.
"Ugh! don't say skeletons," cried Songbird, with a shiver. "I've got the creeps already!"
"Look out that you don't break your neck on the stairs," warned Larry, and then Dick led the way down, holding the light before him.
If it was damp above it was far more so below, and the boys shivered in spite of themselves. The cellar had only a mud bottom and this was covered with slime and mold. There was little there to interest them outside of an old chest which, when they pried it open, proved to be empty.
"Listen!" cried Tom, suddenly, and held up his hand.
"What did you hear?" demanded several of the others.
"I thought I heard somebody walking around upstairs. There it is again!"
All gave attention, and heard the unmistakable sounds of footsteps on the stairs leading to the second story.
"Who is up there?" called out Dick, and turned to leave the cellar, followed by his brothers and chums.
"Stay where you are!" came back in a harsh voice. "Don't any of you dare to come out of that cellar!"
"It is Merrick!" burst out Tom.
Hardly had he spoken when they heard a door shut sharply and a bolt dropped into place. Then the footsteps retreated.
"He has shut the door to the cellar!" cried Dick, flashing the light upward. "We are locked in!"
"Hark! I heard more than one person running from the house," said Larry.
"That Pike must be with him."
"Or else Tad Sobber."
As quickly as he could, Dick ran up the old stairs and tried the door.
It was in fairly good condition and refused to budge.
"Smash it down!" called out Tom, and went to his brother's assistance.
"We must get out and collar those rascals," said Sam. "Can't you get the door open?"
"We ought to be able to," answered Dick. "Here, catch the light and take the gun."
In a few seconds Dick, Tom and Songbird were pressing on the door with all their strength. All stood on the top step of the cellar stairs.
"Now then, all together!" cried Dick, and they shoved with might and main. Then came a crack below them, and an instant later the cellar stairs collapsed, carrying them with it. As they went down in a confused heap the stairs struck the electric light and smashed it. It also knocked the shotgun from Sam's hand.
Bang! went the firearm, with a report in the narrow confines of the cellar that was deafening.
"I'm killed! I'm killed!" came from Larry, an instant later. "You've shot my hand off!"
CHAPTER XXIX
A WRECK AND A CAPTURE
"Get off of my fingers!"
"Please let me get out of this hole!"
"Say, how can I get up if you're going to sit on my legs?"
These and a few more utterances came from the boys as they endeavored to clear themselves of the wreckage of the fallen stairs. The small cellar was filled with smoke from the shotgun, and Larry was dancing around flipping his hurt hand in the air. All was pitch dark, for the small windows were covered with dirt and cobwebs to such a depth that no light penetrated through them.
"Beware of that gun!" called Dick, when he could speak. "Only one barrel went off, remember."
"Larry, are you really killed?" questioned Sara, who, somehow, felt responsible, since the weapon had been in his hands.
"N--no, but I'm hit in the fingers," came from the wounded boy. "The shot went right past my head, too!"
"Make a light, somebody," called out Fred. "Songbird, you've got some matches."
The poet of the Hall lit a match, and by this faint light the boys first of all looked at Larry's damaged hand. Fortunately the charge of shot had merely grazed the thumb and middle finger, and it was found that Larry was more frightened than hurt. The hand was bound up in a couple of handkerchiefs.
"When we get back to the boat you'll want to wash the wounds well," said Dick.
Tom had picked up the electric pocket light, but found he could not make it work. Again they were in darkness until another match was lit.
"We can't reach that door, with the stairs down," was Dick's comment.
"Let us break out a window."