Ronicky Doones Treasure | Page 8

through one of the windows of the
basement, but when he tried them, he found every one staunchly
secured from within, and when he attempted to turn the catch with the
blade of his knife, he could not succeed. The locks had been rusted
strongly in place.
Since he could not take the bottom way in, he would take an upper.
Yonder, the turret which projected from the upper corner of the
building was continued all the way to the ground through the three
stories of the house in a set of bow windows. The result was that
between the angle of the projecting windows and the wall of the house
itself there were scores of footholds, precarious and small to an
inexpert climber, but to athletic Ronicky Doone as safe as walking up a
stairway.
The chance to use his muscles, moreover, after this chilling wait, was
welcome to him, and he went up with the agility of a monkey until he

reached the smaller window on the third story of the structure. Here he
clambered onto the projecting sill and tried to lift the window. It was
locked as securely as those of the basement. There was only the chance
that it might have been used more recently and had not been rusted into
place.
Accordingly, he opened his stout-bladed knife again and inserted it in
the crack between the upper and the lower sash, feeling along toward
the center until he reached the little metal crossbar which made the
windows secure. It resisted the first tentative pressure. But the second
and more vigorous effort made the lock give with a faint squeaking
sound. In another instant Ronicky had raised the window and thrust his
head into the room.
His whole body followed at once, and, lowering himself cautiously into
the room, he found himself at last definitely consigned to the adventure,
whatever it might bring forth.
A new atmosphere had at once surrounded him. The air was warmer,
less fresh, drier. But more than all these things, it was filled with the
personality, so to speak, of human beings. The darkness had a quality
not unlike that of a human face. It watched Ronicky Doone; it listened
to him as he crouched by the wall and waited and listened.
For now, no matter how innocent his errand, the people of the house, if
indeed there were more than the girl present, would be amply justified
in treating as a criminal a man who had forced his way into their home.
If he were shot on sight the law would not by the weight of a single
finger attempt to punish the slayers. And still he persisted in the
adventure.
Eventually, by whatever uneasy light filtered from the night and
through the window, he made out that the room in which he stood was
utterly bare of furniture of any kind. It was deserted. By the soft feel of
dust beneath his shoe he shrewdly guessed that it had been deserted a
matter of many years, and when he tried the boards with his weight his
conjecture was further reinforced by the whisper which replied, and
which would have grown into a prodigious squeak had he allowed his

whole weight to fall.
This particular made his exit from the room a delicate matter. He
managed it without noise only by staying close to the edge of the wall,
where the flooring, being here firmly attached, could not possibly have
any great play. Facing out to the center of the room, since in this
manner he could slide closest to the wall, he managed to get to the hall
door of the room and thence into the hall without making a whisper
loud enough to have caught the attentive ear of a cat.
Once there he paused again, swaying a little, so lightly was he poised,
with the rhythm of his breathing. The house below was still as the
grave, but presently it was filled with murmurs. For the wind had
freshened and was now striking the house with a renewed vigor. His
thought flashed back to Lou, standing patiently in the shelter of the
pines, and then he turned again to the work before him.
It was peculiarly embarrassing. He could not simply stand in the hall
and shout his good intentions and his warnings. That would be sheer
madness. There remained nothing but to hunt through the house and
hope to find Hugh Dawn, surprise him, perhaps cover him with a gun,
and then deliver his tidings at its point. For otherwise Hugh Dawn, no
doubt in terrible fear of his old band, would shoot the first stranger on
sight.
Ronicky began to slip down the hall. The noise of the wind, starting a
thousand creaks in the house,