no sign of the smugglers. He proceeded to the very top of the steps, then moved clear of the stairway.
Frank and Joe followed, rising out of the ground like mysterious spirits of the earth, and the three stood in the shelter of the shed.
It was a dark night and the trees were moaning in the wind from the sea. Immediately before them rose the gloomy mass of the house on the cliff. There were no lights.
In the direction of the lane they could hear dull sounds, no doubt from the truck that the smugglers were loading with goods which were to be disposed of by the man called Burke.
"Safe so far," whispered the detective to his sons.
They moved out of the shed, after closing the trapdoor, and stood in the shadows.
"We can't go by way of the lane," whispered Frank.
"There's a prisoner in the cellar of that house," said Fenton Hardy. "I hate to go without setting him free."
"A prisoner?"
"I heard them talking about him."
"Why can't we go to town for help?"
"Once they find us gone they'll clear out."
"But three of us can't do much against this gang. They'll just capture us all again."
