The Rover Boys Down East: or, The Struggle for the Stanhope Fortune

“Don’t ring any bell,” warned Sam. “If those rascals are here they may take the alarm and skip out.”

“There isn’t any bell to ring,” answered Tom, grimly. “There was once an old-fashioned knocker, but it has been broken off.”

“I think one of us ought to try to get around to the back,” said Dick. “If those rascals are here they may try to escape that way.”

“That is true,” returned Tom. “But let us make sure first that we have the right place. The folks living here may be all-right people, and they’d think it strange to see us spying around.”

Dick looked up and down the street and saw a girl eight or nine years old sitting on a porch some distance away, minding a baby.

“Will you tell me who lives in that house?” he asked, of the girl.

“Why, old Mr. Mason lives there,” was the answer.

“Mr. Mason?”

“Yes. He’s a very old man – ’most ninety years old, so they say.”

“Does he live there alone?”

“Yes – that is, all the rest of his family are dead. He has a housekeeper, Mrs. Sobber.”

“Mrs. Sobber!” exclaimed Dick.

“Yes, sir.”

“How old is she?”

“Oh, I don’t know – maybe forty or fifty. She’s been Mr. Mason’s housekeeper for three or four years. If you call on her, you want to look out. She don’t buy from agents.”

“Why?” asked Dick, innocently. He did not mind that the little girl took him to be an agent.

“Oh, she is too sharp and miserly, I guess. She used to get me to do her errands for her – but she never paid me even a cent for it.”

“Anybody else in the house?”

“Not regular. Once in a while a young man comes to see Mrs. Sobber. He ain’t her son, but he’s some kind of a relation. I think she’s his aunt, or great aunt.”

“Haven’t you seen anybody else coming lately?”

“I’ve been away lately – down to my grandfather’s farm. I came back last night. I wish I was back on the farm,” added the little girl, wistfully.

“Never mind, maybe you’ll get back some day,” said Dick, cheerily. “Here’s something for you,” and he dropped a silver dime in her lap, something that pleased her greatly.

“It’s the place!” cried the eldest Rover boy, on rejoining his brothers. “An old man lives here, and a Mrs. Sobber is his housekeeper. She is some relation to Tad, I feel sure. Maybe she is the one who advanced him some money.”

“And maybe she is the woman seen in the auto with Mrs. Stanhope,” added Tom, quickly.

“I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“If you are sure of all this, hadn’t we better notify the police?” came from Sam. “Remember, we have not only Tad Sobber against us, but also old Crabtree, and one or two unknown men. In a hand-to-hand fight we might get the worst of it.”

“That’s a good idea, Sam. Run up to the corner and see if you can find a policeman,” said Dick.

“I guess I know how to get to the rear of that building,” mused Tom. “I’ll go through that alleyway and jump the fences,” and he pointed to an alleyway several houses away.

“All right, Tom. You do that, and I’ll get in the front way somehow. I’m not going to wait another minute. They may have seen us already, and be getting out by some way of which we know nothing.”

Thus speaking, Dick mounted the porch and rapped loudly on the door with his bare knuckles. Tom ran off and disappeared down the alleyway he had pointed out.

Dick listened and then rapped again, this time louder than before. Then he heard a movement inside the house, but nobody came to answer his summons. He tried the door, to find it locked.

“Mrs. Sobber, who is that?” asked a trembling and high-pitched voice – the voice of the old man who owned the building.

“Oh, it’s only a peddler; don’t go to the door,” answered a woman.

“I am not a peddler!” cried Dick. “I have business in this house, and I want to come in.”

“You go away, or I’ll set the dog on you!” cried the woman, and now Dick heard her moving around at the back of the hall.

“Mrs. Sobber, I want you to open this door!” went on Dick, sharply. “If you don’t you’ll get yourself into serious trouble.”

“Want to be bit by the dog?”

“No, I don’t want to be bit by a dog,” answered Dick. He listened but heard nothing of such an animal. “I don’t believe you have a dog. Will you open, or shall I bring a policeman.”

“Mercy on us, a policeman!” gasped the woman. “No, no, don’t do that!”

“What does this mean?” demanded the old man. “Open that door, Mrs. Sobber, and let me see who is there. I don’t understand this. Day before yesterday you brought those strange folks, and now – ”

“Hush! hush!” interrupted the woman, in agitated tones. “Not another word, Mr. Mason. You are too old to understand. Leave it all to me. I will soon send that fellow outside about his business.”

“This is my house, and I want to know what is going on here!” shrilled the old man, and Dick heard him tottering across the floor. “I’ll open the door myself.”

“No! no! not yet!” answered the woman.

“Mr. Mason, I want to come in!” cried Dick loudly. “There has been a crime committed. If you don’t want to be a party to it, open the door.”

“A crime,” faltered the old man.

“Yes, a crime. Open the door at once!”

“No, no, you – er – you shall not!” stormed the woman, and Dick heard her shove the old man back.

“Mr. Mason, for the last time, will you let me in?” shouted Dick.

“Yes! yes!” answered the old man. “But Mrs. Sobber won’t let me open the door.”

“Then I’ll open it myself,” answered Dick, and hurled his weight against the barrier. It was old and dilapidated and gave way with ease; and a moment later Dick stepped into the hallway of the old house.