THE DESERTED BUNGALOW
"There's your landing," said Mr. Wherry, suddenly, as he shut off the
power and turned the bow of the _Balsam_ toward the shore.
"Where?" asked Sylvia.
"Just ahead there, where you see that glimmer of light. I remember the
place now. Queer I should forget it. But I was thinking of a party
named _Roseman_ that had a bungalow up here last year. I got him mixed
up with _Russman_, and that's why I went to the wrong place. But I'm
all right now."
The mistake he had made, however, had cost them some ten minutes of
time. But at last they were at the place, and the girls gave sighs of
relief, for it seemed that some of the nervous strain was over.
"Is the Russman bungalow near the lake?" asked Mrs. Brownley.
"Oh, yes, quite near. You take that path, right where you see the
light. That lantern is at the dock. And you go up the hill, and the
bungalow is in plain sight. You can't miss it."
"Are you going right back?" asked Sylvia of Mr. Wherry.
"Oh, yes, miss. I have a party to take to Big Tupper Lake to-morrow,
so I have to go back. If you'll excuse me, I'll just set your things on
shore, and I won't get out myself. I'm late as it is, and I don't fancy
going past those sandbars after dark. But I've got to do it."
"Oh, we shall manage very nicely if you set our valises and cases
ashore," the chaperon said. "We are used to managing for ourselves."
She paid Mr. Wherry the price agreed upon as the boat was slowly
drifting up to the little wharf. The girls could see the lantern now
quite plainly. It was hung near a rustic sign that gave the name of the
Russman bungalow.
A little later they stood on the shore of the lake in the darkness that
was illuminated only by the faint gleam of the hanging lantern, and the
_Balsam_ was turning around and going back over the course it had come.
"It's certainly lonesome," shivered Alice, with a nervous glance around.
"Nonsense!" exclaimed Sylvia. "With a bungalow so close at hand? You
can even see the lights from it," and she pointed to a glow that shone
through the trees.
"Yes, I think that must be the place," said Mrs. Brownley. "I suppose
we had better go on up to it."
"Shall we shout to let them know we are here?" asked Hazel.
"Oh, no!" exclaimed Sylvia. "They wouldn't know who it was, and it
might startle Roy. Just go up quietly."
"I do hope there is some place where we can stay to-night," said Rose.
"Wouldn't it be dreadful if the bungalow should be so filled with
guests that there was no place for us!"
"Oh, there will be other places," Sylvia replied. "I made inquiries
before starting, and was told there were several hotels in this
vicinity, at least boarding-houses and camps."
"But how to find them in the dark?" asked Hazel.
"We'll manage somehow. We aren't Nowadays Girls for nothing!" and
Sylvia laughed.
"Well, forward--march!" commanded the chaperon. Each one took her
suit-case and started up the path that showed dimly in the gleam of the
hanging lantern.
"There goes the motor boat," said Alice, turning to gaze at the moving,
shimmering light that betokened that Mr. Wherry was making all speed
down Lower Saranac Lake.
"Yes, we _have_ to stay now, whether we want to or not," added Hazel.
"Well, we _want_ to stay!" declared Rose, with positiveness.
"Of course," assented Sylvia.
The faint chug-chug of the _Balsam_ came to them as they made their
way up the ascending path toward the gleam of light in the woods which
betokened the presence of the bungalow. Gradually the sound of the
motor became more faint, as the craft went around a bend. Then it died
out altogether.
Suddenly there sounded a loud cry in the tree over the girls' heads.
"Oh!" screamed Hazel.
"A horrid loon!" gasped Alice.
"An owl!" scoffed Sylvia, with a laugh. "When _will_ you girls learn to
be nature-lovers?"
The weird cry of the hooting bird was repeated, but the girls were not
so frightened now as they walked on. The glow of light increased as
they neared the bungalow, which they could dimly see now, outlined amid
the trees.
"I do hope they ask us to supper," sighed Alice.
"Of course they will," said Sylvia. "If they don't, we have a good part
of our lunch left."
They were now directly in front of the bungalow, which proved to be one
of good size, with a porch all the way around it. The building stood
some distance back from the lake, on a little elevation of ground that
gave a good view.
The front and back doors were wide open, which fact was easily
ascertained, as broad shafts of light came from each door, cutting
a path of yellow mellowness in the blackness of the woods. They had
approached the Russman property at an angle.
"It's rather an awkward time to come visiting," Sylvia said, as she
and her chums, with Mrs. Brownley, walked up the front steps. "It is a
little too late for dinner and too early for breakfast."
"We couldn't help it," Alice said. "It was the fault of that motor-boat
man. He delayed us."
They could now look into the living-room of the bungalow. A large
hanging lamp gave ample light, and they saw that the apartment was most
comfortably furnished. There were big easy-chairs, window seats draped
with Indian blankets and rugs, and a log fire which had died down into
glowing embers, for the night was rather chilly.
Through the living-room a glimpse could be had into the dining-room,
over the table of which hung another large lamp, lighted, and casting
on the board a mellow illumination. The table was set for several
persons, but it appeared the meal had not been begun.
"We're just in time," whispered Hazel.
"Hush! Some one will hear you," cautioned Alice.
But Sylvia was impressed, almost from the first, by a strange and eerie
silence about the place. There was not a sound. Not a voice spoke.
There was no laughter. Even the clatter of dishes, always attendant
upon mealtime, was absent, and there was no talk from the quarters of
the servants, though the light streaming from the rear door would seem
to indicate that the kitchen was in use.
"It is very strange," mused Sylvia. And again a sense of foreboding
came to her. Something seemed to hang over her--to press upon her
heart. She tried in vain to shake it off.
Mrs. Brownley knocked on the door. The sound echoed through the rooms,
and they waited expectantly for the answer of approaching footsteps.
But only silence greeted them.
"Knock again," urged Rose.
The chaperon did so, but once more the echo was the only answer.
"That is strange," said Sylvia, voicing aloud the feeling that was
overmastering her. "Very strange!"
"They don't hear us," murmured Aunt Theodora.
"Call!" suggested Hazel. "They may be out in the woods."
"What! after dark, and with supper all served?" asked Alice,
incredulously.
A third time Mrs. Brownley rapped, and then, waiting a few seconds, she
called:
"Is any one here?"
There was no reply.
"Roy!" suddenly called Sylvia. "Roy Pursell! It is I--Sylvia!"
Her voice carried well. In that silent place it seemed to fill and echo
through the woods. But no one answered.
"Let us go in," said Mrs. Brownley. "Something may have happened."
"Oh--what?" gasped Rose.
"I don't know, my dear. But evidently they cannot hear us. I am sure
they would welcome us if they could, so let us go in and make our
presence known."
Rather embarrassed, they made their way into the living-room. They took
pains to make considerable noise, letting the screen door slam shut,
but their intrusion was not challenged.
"It is very strange," Sylvia observed again.
They went into the dining-room. And there the strangeness was
increased, for there was every evidence that the family and their
guests had at least taken their places at the table, though no one had
eaten anything. For napkins were unfolded, and in one or two cases
had fallen to the floor. And two chairs were upset, as though the
occupants had arisen hastily, and in so doing had overturned the pieces
of furniture. The table was slightly disarranged, too, showing more
plainly that it had been left suddenly, and by all the guests.
"But what does it all mean?" gasped Sylvia.
"I can't imagine," answered the chaperon.
They stood looking at one another, and then gazed about the deserted
dining-room. The answer to the puzzle was not plain.
"Can this be the right place?" asked Alice. "We may have made a
mistake."
"It is the Russman bungalow, surely enough," Sylvia said. "I have
heard Roy describe it several times. And I saw, in the living-room, a
suit-case with Mr. Russman's name on it. This is the right place."
"But where is Roy--Mr. Montray--Mr. Russman? Where is--every one?" Rose
asked, and there was a sob in her voice.
"I don't know," said Sylvia, simply.
Mrs. Brownley had penetrated to the kitchen through the butler's
pantry. The girls followed her.
There was no one there. But the fire was burning in the stove, and on
it were several dishes of food, being kept warm. On the kitchen table
were other dishes ready to serve, but the food in them was cold.
"Is any one here?" Sylvia cried, raising her voice in a nervous shout.
No one answered. It was as though a blight had fallen on the deserted
bungalow--a blight like that of some ancient fable. The occupants of
the house in the woods had been made to vanish just as they were about
to sit down to the table.
"Is any one here?" Mrs. Brownley cried, standing at the foot of the
stairs and directing her voice upward.
No one answered.
Once again they walked through the deserted lower rooms, more and more
puzzled, and trying to pluck up courage to ascend the stairs. The
silence was oppressive.
"The place is deserted," said Sylvia, in a low voice that, quiet as it
was, sounded too loud in that silent place.
"Deserted!" whispered Rose. "Then where is Roy?"