The Third Adventure by Gordon Korman Page A

pickup truck.
    If he looks over his shoulder, he’ll be staring straight at me!
    Her nerveless fingers lost their grip on the vine, and Melissa’s phone was falling. Fumbling madly, she caught the line, stopping the unit three inches from shattering against the base of the fireplace. Heart pounding, she dove for the apex of the A-frame roof. If she could make it over the top before Swindle’s man turned around . . .
    As she somersaulted over the peak, a horrible realization came to her: She had misjudged the slope. Down the other side she skidded, tumbling out of control.

    M ustering all her strength and climbing skill, Pitch wedged the heel of her sneaker against a kitchen vent. Her momentum spun her upside down, sliding toward the edge. At the last second, she reached above her head, locked a pincer grip on the eaves, and squeezed. Her motion shuddered to a stop. She hung there, her hair cascading off the roof. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Griffin and the team crouched in the foliage, staring up at her in horror. Another second or two and she would have gone over the side.
    Oblivious to the drama unfolding above him, Hiller got a small paper bag out of the pickup and went back inside the house. The crisis had ended as quickly as it had begun.
    Gingerly, Pitch got herself turned around and made her way back to the chimney. Winding the vine around her arm like the spool of a fishing rod, she reeled the phone out of the flue. Then she shinnied down the drainpipe and rejoined her friends.
    Even Ferret Face regarded her in awe.
    â€œAre you okay?” Ben hissed. “Man, I figured we’d be scraping you out of the weeds with a spatula!”
    â€œFirst rule of climbing,” Pitch told him bravely. “If it didn’t happen, there’s no point in stressing over it.”
    â€œThe important thing is we got the information we needed,” The Man With The Plan reminded everybody. “Swindle and the other jerk are stuck until morning. Which means we’ve got some time to make our move on Luthor.”
    â€œWe haven’t got
that
much time,” Ben put in. “Pitch and I have been AWOL from camp since this morning. If we don’t get back soon, the counselors are going to start to panic.”
    â€œWe can’t worry about any of that,” Savannah insisted. “The only thing that matters is saving Luthor.”
    â€œThat’s another problem,” Pitch pointed out. “The dog weighs a ton. We can lift him — but not with two people chasing us. Been there, done that.”
    Melissa had a suggestion. “Maybe we can wait till they go to sleep.”
    Griffin nodded. “The question is how do we get in the house?”
    â€œThe roof won’t work,” Pitch supplied. “No way into the attic, no skylight.”
    â€œAn unlocked window?” asked Logan.
    Griffin shook his head. “We can’t depend on it. Besides, the house is so small, we could be climbing straight into Swindle’s lap.”
    Stealthily, Griffin approached the little cabin, the others trailing behind him. Crouched in the cover of the bushes, they circled the outside. Griffin stopped in front of a pair of flat, wooden cellar doors, separate from the house.
    Pitch indicated the heavy padlock that barred the entryway. “How are you going to get through
that
?”
    Griffin knelt on the damp ground to investigate. The lock was metal, but the doors themselves were ancient wood, softened by decades of northeastern weather. He began to work with his thumbs, trying to create some separation between the iron hasp and the rotted panel. “Quick — see if you can find something to jam under here.”
    Melissa handed over a sharp wedge-shaped rock. “Try this.”
    Griffin inserted the pointed edge beneath the cleat and pressed down, levering the hasp away from the door. With light popping sounds, the softened wood gave way, and the cleat came