Into that room the party proceeded, the
men in the lead. There was no one there save themselves and nothing out
of the ordinary to be seen. But the snoring kept on, plainer than ever.
John looked behind the furniture and under the bed.
"It's no use doin' that," whispered Thankful. "I've done that myself
fifty times."
Captain Obed was walking about the room, his ear close to the wall,
listening. At a point in the center of the rear wall, that at the back
of the house, he stopped and listened more intently than ever.
"John," he whispered eagerly, "come here."
John came.
"Listen," whispered the captain. "It's plainer here than anywhere else,
ain't it?"
"Yes. Yes, I think it is. But where does it come from?"
"Somewhere overhead, seems to me. Give me that chair."
Cautiously and silently he placed the chair close to the wall, stood
upon it, and, with his ear against the wallpaper, moved his head
backward and forward and up and down. Then he stopped moving and
reaching up felt along the wall with his hands.
"I've got it," he whispered. "Here's the place."
His fingers described a circle on the wall. He tapped gently in the
middle of the circle.
"Hark!" he said. "All solid out here, but here--hollow as a drum.
It's--it's a stovepipe hole, that's what 'tis. There was a stove here
one time or 'nother and the pipe hole was papered over."
"But--but what of it?" whispered Thankful. "I don't care about stovepipe
holes. It's that dreadful noise I want to locate.
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