Night Alarm
Rick lathered a hot dog with mustard and took a satisfying bite. It was
a down-to-earth hot dog with no mystery, no eerieness about it, for
which he was grateful. He hadn't admitted it, but the incident in the
mine had shaken him.
Dr. Miller passed the milk pitcher to Rick, then asked, "Are you certain
you heard laughter? It wasn't a trick of the wind?"
"I'm sure it was laughter," Barby said solemnly. "Captain Costin was
laughing at mortals who dared to enter his tomb."
Rick glanced at his sister, hoping she was joking. She wasn't. "I'm not
certain," he admitted. "It all happened at once. I mean, the torch went
out, there was a sort of sudden breeze, and we got out of there into the
daylight."
He had a mental image of he and Scotty executing that ancient and
honorable maneuver known as getting out of there! They had reached the
mine entrance in a dead heat, probably breaking several world's records
for foot racing.
"We didn't stop to listen," he added with some embarrassment. "We just
got."
"Well, I should think so!" Jan Miller said vehemently. "It's a wonder
your hair didn't turn white."
Scotty raised a hand and ruffled his dark crewcut. "Didn't it?" he asked
ruefully. "I took it for granted that it had."
Dr. Miller chuckled. "Put on a few more hot dogs," he called to his
wife. "These boys need nourishment. They've been through an ordeal." To
Rick and Scotty he said seriously, "You needn't be embarrassed. The fear
of the unknown, combined with the fears we have of closed places, almost
complete darkness, and our own physiological reactions to the unexpected
make us do our thinking with our legs instead of our heads in some
situations."
It was neatly put. Rick acknowledged the scientist's statement. "It
isn't as though we had been scared away for good. We're going back,
equipped with lights a ghost can't blow out."
"And I'm certain you'll find nothing but an abandoned shaft," Dr. Miller
replied. "After all, the dust showed no sign of human occupancy, you
said."
"Ghosts don't leave tracks," Barby murmured.
Scotty accepted another hot dog from Mrs. Miller. "Thank you. Look,
everyone, we can make two assumptions. Either that the ghost is real, in
which case we call in the Society for Psychic Phenomena, or that the
ghost is a man-made thing, in which case we search for the man."
"I'm still not buying assumption number one," Rick stated flatly. "My
hair may be white, or close to it, and I'm ready to admit that the
apparition is a mighty convincing spook, but I don't really _feel_ it's
a ghost."
Jan Miller spoke up. "Rick's hunches are pretty good. If he doesn't
believe in the ghost, it isn't just because he's a doubting Thomas. I
think the boys should go ahead with their investigation on the
assumption that the ghost is caused by someone."
Barby shook her head, more in sorrow than in anger. "I thought you had
more faith than that, Jan."
"It isn't a question of faith," Jan explained. "It's a question of where
you start. If we start by accepting the ghost as real, there's nothing
we can do. Anyway, we invited the boys down to try to solve a mystery,
didn't we? I guess that proves we didn't truly believe in the ghost."
Rick grinned at the dark-haired girl. "Okay, Jan. Now, to carry on where
Scotty left off, if we assume the ghost is man-caused, we have to assume
it isn't a practical joke, or that it is. What's the vote?"
"No evidence," Dr. Miller said thoughtfully. "It could be a practical
joke, although it's an elaborate sort of thing. More complicated
practical jokes than this have been pulled by expert jokesters. On the
whole, however, I'm inclined to vote against the joke assumption on the
grounds that it has been going on too long. Jokesters are not noted for
their staying power. By this time the secret would be out, or we'd be
having variations. The apparition wouldn't have fallen into a routine."
Dr. Miller had spotted exactly the thing that was troubling Rick. It was
routine, but ghosts are traditionally far from routine. That was
actually the biggest argument for assuming that it was man-made, and
that it was not a practical joke.
He voiced his thoughts aloud, then asked, "If man-made, and not a
practical joke, what's the motive?"
No one replied, because no one had a possible answer.
"Find the motive and you find just about everything else," Scotty
commented.
"True enough," Rick agreed. "But if we can't guess a motive, let's try
another tack. When did the ghost first appear?"
Barby answered. "Right after the Civil War."
Rick was patient. "I know. I mean, when did the ghost start making his
recent appearances?"
"About a month ago," Dr. Miller replied. "We first heard about it from
our tenant farmer when we arrived here from Spindrift. He was full of
the news, as you can imagine. The ghost first appeared at a Girl Scouts'
campfire. An annual event. The girls are supposed to camp overnight.
Needless to say, they didn't."
Rick had a quick mental impression of uniformed girls scattering like
leaves in a hurricane. "The appearances have been regular since then?"
"Yes. So far as we know, the ghost always appears at nine."
Rick scratched his chin thoughtfully. "I wonder if he appears when
there's no audience?"
Scotty chuckled. "That's like the question about does a falling tree
make a noise if there's no one to hear it. How can you tell?"
"I just wondered if the ghost would appear for a small audience, like
one or two people."
"Meaning us," Scotty said with resignation. "When do we try, tonight?"
"Could be. Are there any picnics or meetings scheduled for tonight, Dr.
Miller?"
"Not that I know of. The next big affair is two days from now. The Sons
of the Old Dominion have their annual steak and crab feast. This is the
Old Dominion State, you know. It's a major event in this area."
"Then we'll try tonight," Rick stated, with a glance at Scotty. His pal
nodded.
Over a second hot dog, then a third, Rick continued his line of
questioning. Not until he began to ask more about details of mine
ownership did one interesting fact come to light. Dr. Miller had
received an offer to buy his property at a price considerably above the
going market rates just before the ghostly appearances started.
"The offer wasn't for all the property," Dr. Miller added. "Only for the
portion along our eastern line. It includes the field where you landed,
the picnic ground, and our part of the mine property. The house and
orchard were not included."
"How valuable is the part asked for?" Rick queried.
"Not valuable at all, except that the field could be used for hay or
alfalfa. That's why I was rather puzzled."
"Who wanted the land?" Scotty asked.
"I don't know. The offer came through Jethro Collins, a local
real-estate man. He said he was acting as agent for out-of-town
interests that preferred to remain unknown for political reasons. It
sounded fishy to me, and I refused."
"Because it might be crooked?" Rick asked quickly.
"No. That didn't occur to me. I thought that industrial interests might
want the property, and I'm not anxious to have a glue works or something
set up as a neighbor. Besides, I don't care for Collins. I'd rather not
do business with him."
"Could the old mine have any value?" Rick persisted.
"No. The lead remaining is of such poor grade that it wouldn't be of any
use. I'm sure that the mine would have been abandoned even before the
Civil War if the South hadn't needed the lead so badly. Of course we're
only part owners, anyway. My grandfather owned it jointly with the
Hilleboes, our next-door neighbors. They own the property beyond ours,
and uphill from the mine. We've never worried over the ownership of the
mine itself, because it's worthless for any purpose."
Rick thought it was curious that an offer should be made for worthless
property just as the ghost put in an appearance. It required looking
into. He wondered how to go about it, and decided perhaps a chat with
the real-estate agent might be useful. Dr. Miller readily gave his
permission to try.
To Rick's other question, Dr. Miller had no answer--that was the odd
location of the pipe from which the spring water trickled. The scientist
could make only one suggestion. "Perhaps the hole was drilled
vertically, and a horizontal feed put on for convenience. Then, later,
the area was covered over by tailings from the mine, leaving only the
horizontal pipe. After all, the pipe is not directly over the mine
shaft. It is well to one side, perhaps six or eight feet."
That was a reasonable suggestion, and Rick let it drop for the time
being. In fact, the boys let the entire subject drop for the rest of the
afternoon, although Rick kept worrying the problem as was his way when
confronted with a puzzle.
The Millers had a badminton court in the shade of an enormous old oak,
and after a short pause to let the hot dogs digest at least partially,
Rick and Scotty let themselves in for a series of trouncings by the
girls, who had obviously been playing intensively. It was embarrassing,
to say the least, but neither boy begrudged the girls their success.
Not until dinner was ended did the subject of the ghost in Union blue
come up again, then Rick started his probing once more.
"The business about an offer for the property may not be connected, but
it's a curious coincidence. Now, what else happened about the time the
haunting began? Any other facts, even unconnected ones?"
The Millers could think of none, but Mrs. Miller suggested that Belsely,
their tenant, would know of anything new or unusual. Rick agreed to talk
with him.
At eight o'clock, armed with flashlights, the boys departed for the old
mine. They approached the area with caution, on the alert for any
possible visitors. But the picnic ground was completely abandoned.
A quick inspection of the mine showed only their own footprints. The
boards had been left off the entrance during their earlier inspection,
and apparently no one had been there since. Then, at Scotty's
suggestion, they looked for a place of concealment from which to hold
vigil.
Rick found it, high in an oak. It was an easy climb, and from the huge
limb they could look through a screen of foliage and see without being
seen. Both boys were satisfied that they were unobserved. No humans knew
they were in the vicinity.
The Virginia mosquitoes were not so easily deceived. Both boys were
promptly located by a scouting party, and mosquito communications went
into fast operation. Within a few minutes the entire local mosquito air
force had invaded the tree. Rick waved his hands futilely at the whining
swarm and muttered unhappily, "There are so many they have to line up
for a bite."
"I know," Scotty replied in a whisper. "I wonder if they bite ghosts?"
"We'll soon see. It's a few minutes to nine."
In spite of the insects, the boys concentrated on the catch basin, alert
for any sign of the ghost. Their flashlights were ready to probe the
apparition if it should appear.
Rick glanced occasionally at the luminous dial of his watch. Then, on
the stroke of nine, he whispered, "Now."
Nothing happened. The boys bore the mosquitoes stoically and waited. Not
until his watch showed 9:15 did Rick speak aloud. "Let's get out of
here. I doubt that the ghost will be any later than this. He's not
performing tonight."
They dropped to the ground and scratched luxuriously. Scotty shook his
head. "No audience, no ghost. Mighty interesting."
"I'm with you," Rick agreed. "Now, suppose the ghost had known we were
going to be there. Would he perform for an audience of two?"
"Good question."
"We'll try for an answer tomorrow night," Rick stated. "Tomorrow we'll
spread the word around town that we're going to be watching, and let's
see what happens."
Scotty scooped up a pebble and tossed it into the creek as they crossed
the bridge. "You're sold on the man-made idea, huh?"
"Aren't you?"
"I would be if I had the slightest clue about how a ghost can be
produced. But this one baffles me. No darkened rooms, no ghost trumpets,
no knocks on tables, not even a chain clanking. A puff of mist and the
ghost appears. How is it done?"
Rick didn't know. He didn't even have an idea. "The pool bubbled," he
remembered. "That's our only clue. Why did the pool bubble?"
"Essence of spook," Scotty replied. "Spook essence does that to water.
Seriously, we poked in the bottom of the pool and found nothing."
"That doesn't mean there was nothing while the ghost was performing,"
Rick pointed out. "Only that no trace was left."
"You thinking about chemicals?" Scotty lengthened his stride toward the
inviting lights of the Miller farmhouse. "And speaking of same, I need
some for these mosquito bites."
"Chemicals can produce a mist," Rick pointed out, "without leaving a
visible trace. We didn't taste the water in the pool. I'm going to take
a sample tomorrow and see what I can find out."
The girls and the Millers were on the screened porch, waiting anxiously.
"No show," Rick called, anticipating the questions from the four on the
porch. "Not a sign of a spook. Only mosquitoes."
"I have something for those bites," Mrs. Miller replied quickly. "The
mosquitoes are fierce this year. Come into the kitchen and we'll treat
both of you."
Between applications of the aromatic ointment the boys reported on their
experience, or lack of it. Rick concluded, "So the ghost performs only
before an audience, and then only when notified in advance."
Dr. Miller smiled. "A pretty sweeping conclusion from a pretty small
sample, Rick. One experiment doesn't do more than give a single point on
the curve. You need more evidence than tonight's failure."
"We'll try again," Rick answered. He outlined the plan to let it be
known that they would be watching.
"That will be added evidence, but not conclusive," the scientist warned.
"But you're on the right track, I'd say. Now, let's leave ghosts and go
on to something more tangible. I have an interesting device made up of
alternate black and red squares, on which various carved pieces,
resembling royalty ..."
Rick held up a hand. "Say no more. I will be delighted to take you on
for a game of chess."
Barby and Jan returned to their own project, creating monograms to be
embroidered on their summer clothes, while Scotty and Mrs. Miller
settled down with books.
Rick knew from the start that he was no match for Dr. Miller, but he
resolved to give him as good a game as possible. An hour passed before
it was clear that Rick would be checkmated in two moves. He sighed.
"You've got me, sir. I guess ..."
The sentence was never completed. The quiet was abruptly shattered by
the strident blasting of the plane's alarm system!
Rick and Scotty were on their feet and running on the instant. Rick
reached the door first and threw it open, almost upsetting Belsely, the
tenant farmer.
The man's eyes were wide, and his face was pale under the tan.
"It's the ghost!" he shouted. "It's him! In the field, by the plane!"