Slowly and very cautiously they ascended and presently came to the top
of the stairs. Bob was in the lead, his pistol gripped tightly in one
hand. With his free hand he pushed the door open gently and looked
within. The kitchen was deserted, a broken-down stove in one corner, a
water heater covered with dirt and rust, a sagging sink, and two
battered chairs and a table completing the furnishings. A soft breeze
entered through a broken window and gently stirred the strip of wall
paper hanging limply from the ceiling.
Bob beckoned to Hugh and they emerged into the room. They listened
intently. Not a sound was to be heard. Reassured they passed out of the
kitchen through a narrow back hall, and into the parlor. The same aspect
of neglect and decay was everywhere evident, but nothing suspicious was
to be seen.
"Shall we go upstairs?" whispered Bob.
"We might as well. I don't believe there's any one here anyway."
The stairs leading to the second floor creaked and groaned under the
weight of the boys, but as they were now convinced that the house was
uninhabited they were not worried.
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