“Oh! it came three times, you remember, Hugh,” suggested K.K.; “and, like in baseball, I reckon it’s three times and out.  Whatever it was let out those screeches it’s certainly quieted down.  How about going on now, Hugh?”

“If I was alone,” mused the other, “I really believe I’d be half tempted to take a prowl around, and find out if I could what all the row meant.  I never like to pass anything up, when my curiosity is excited.”

“Oh, come back again some other time, Hugh, when you’re not booked for getting home!” sang out Horatio.  “If you put it to a vote I don’t believe anybody in this bunch would seem wild to back you up right now.  Fact is, I can hear our supper-bell calling me ever so loud.  Hey! boys, how about that?”

“Let’s get a move on!” Julius hastened to reply, so that there could be no mistaking his sentiments, at least.

Julius was followed by K.K., although the latter shrugged his shoulders as he added: 

“Perhaps it looks timid in us doing what we mean to, but really this is none of our business, and we might get in some trouble bothering around here.  I read about a house that was said to be haunted, which story a daring reporter said he’d investigate.  He spent a night there, and actually captured the ghost, who turned out to be just an ordinary man, living on a place adjoining the haunted estate.  He owned up to being the pallid specter that had been giving the house such a bad name; and said he wanted to buy the property in for a song, as it would find no other purchaser if it had such an evil reputation.  Now, maybe somebody wants this quarry for thirty cents, and this is his way of scaring other would-be purchasers away.  We don’t want to butt in on any such game, you see.”

Hugh and the others laughed at such a clever explanation.

“Whatever the truth may be,” said Hugh, “I hardly believe it’ll turn out anything like that, K.K.  But you might as well start on.  We’re only losing time here, and it seems as though the thing doesn’t mean to give us another sample of that swan song.”

“For which, thanks!” sighed Julius.  “I know music when I hear it, and if that’s what they call a song of the dying swan excuse me from ever listening to another.  I can beat that all hollow through a megaphone, and then not half try.”

So the chauffeur started up, and they were soon moving along the rough road that had once, no doubt, been kept in repair, when the heavy wagons carried out the building stone quarried from the hillside, but which was now in a pretty bad shape.

Two minutes afterwards and the road took them directly alongside the quarry dump, where the excavated earth had been thrown.  They could now see the cliff rising up alongside.  It looked strangely bleak, for, of all things, there can hardly be a more desolate sight than an abandoned stone quarry, where the weeds and thistles have grown up, and puddles of water abound.