d on," hinted Dick. "Doesn't it look as though fresh earth
had been sprinkled here?"

"Of course it does," nodded Harry. "And the earth has soaked
up the blood."

"I don't see any soaked-up blood," objected Greg.

"No; because it's so well covered and soaked up," argued Hazelton.
"But wait until I find a stick, and we'll stir up that dirt.
Then we'll find the red stuff mixed to a sort of mud, and-----"

"Come along out of this, you ghoul!" uttered Tom almost wrathfully,
as he seized his friend by the arm.

"We'll go to the door," Dick suggested. "Perhaps we can get inside.
At any rate, we can find out whether there is any one inside
who wants help."

Dick put his hand on the doorknob, giving it a turn and a hard push.

"Door's locked tightly now," he announced.

"And it takes human hands to lock a door," Reade observed sagely.

"Is there anyone inside who needs any help?" Prescott called loudly.

All was silent inside. Then Dick played a tattoo on the locked
door with his fists. Still no sound from inside.

"All together, now," urged Dick. "Any---one---want---help?" bawled
six lusty young voices in unison.

"There is only one voice that answers," continued Dick, after
a pause, as he turned to the others. "That's the silent voice
of good sense."

"What does it say, then," challenged Dave.

"That we've done about all we can do here," Dick replied. "All
we know is that a man seemed to have been hurt here. If he was,
he was able to take himself away, and to conceal the signs of
his hurt before going. Therefore we've no further excuse for
meddling around here that I can see."

"Let's get along then," Tom urged. "And---whew! It's after half
past six!"

"You'd better run, then," jeered Dave. "Your stomach won't allow
any more fooling!"

"Now, what ought I to say to a crank like Darry?" demanded Reade,
turning to Prescott.

"You'd better overwhelm him, by saying what the man on the clubhouse
steps said," urged Dick.

"And what was that?" asked Tom eagerly.

"We-ell," hesitated Dick, "I believe that's still a secret."

The Grammar School boys were now walking rapidly through the woods,
but at mention of the clubhouse topic all had gathered close to
their young leader.

"Aren't you going to tell us now?" demanded Greg.

"I'm afraid not right away," responded Prescott slowly.

"See here, Dickins," growled Dave Darrin, "for months you've been
stringing us about what the man on the clubhouse steps s