“Well, he’ll likely turn it in at Company Headquarters over in
Millport. Better inquire there.” He was turning away when Eve spoke up.
“You didn’t, by any chance,” she inquired, “happen to notice where the
spectacled gentleman got off, did you?”
The driver paused and looked at her. “Well, say, now you speak of it,”
he said, “I do remember. Little chap, wasn’t he, with big specs and a
straw hat? Carried a suitcase too. I recollect now—he got off at
Beecham Corners, next stop up the line. Maybe stopped at the Inn there.”
“Then I think the best thing for us to do would be to ride over there
and inquire,” Eve said.
The driver nodded and hurried away. But he was back shortly, and five
minutes later we were rolling inland. The sandy road gave place to an
uneven dirt one and the smell of the sea to the mingled odors of dust
and gasoline, with now and then a whiff of clover fields or flowering
wayside bush. Not until we had embarked had either of us considered how
we were to get back. I fondly hoped that, in case we had to walk, I
would not have a case full of bottles to carry at any rate.
It proved to be quite a short ride, however, and in less than ten
minutes we were climbing down at a country crossroads. When the driver
had spoken of The Inn, my imagination had pictured a thriving
hostelry—cars drown up at the door under a porte cochère, tables on a
terrace, etc. It was with somewhat of a shock, therefore, as the bus
rolled away that I perceived that there was neither a car nor a human
being in sight. There were four houses, to be sure, but the nearest of
these was boarded up and the others looked as if they might have been
permanently abandoned.
“Quite a metropolis,” remarked Eve cheerfully. “Wonder which is the
Inn?”
I picked up “Harry’s” luggage and trudged after her up one of the
crossroads. In the yard of one of the houses, I perceived a woman
digging dandelion greens. The sight cheered me greatly.
Over the wall, Eve inquired the way to the Inn. The woman rose from her
stooping posture and surveyed us with some curiosity. “I ’spect you
mean Trap’s place,” she said. “It’s the big house over on the other
corner. But I wouldn’t recommend the rooms and they say the meals——”
“Oh, we weren’t thinking of stopping,” Eve assured her hastily. “It’s
just—just an errand.”
From behind a damaged screen door, voices issued as we approached the
side door of “Trap’s place.” Entering, we found ourselves in a narrow
store. A woman sat behind the counter adding a column of figures on a
brown paper bag. In the rear two men were smoking. A hurried glance
told me that neither resembled the gentleman we sought.
Eve advanced to the counter and stated our errand.
“I guess likely it’s that Mr. Bangs you want,” the woman said when she
had finished. I was aware as she eyed us of the same lively curiosity
which had animated the dandelion digger. “He come in last night,” she
went on. “I didn’t hear him say nothin’ ’bout no suitcase. Real
estate’s his line, he said. He was makin’ inquiries about the old
Craven House up Old Beecham way and I seen him start off in that
direction this mornin’, though it’s the first I heard the place was for
sale and what anybody’d want an old rattletrap like that for——”
This was rather of a facer; after we’d come all this way to find our
bird flown. The woman must have seen the disappointment in our faces,
for she added, “If you walked up there right away, maybe you could
catch him. He ain’t been gone more’n half an hour.”
“Is it—far?” I asked weakly with a hostile glance at Mr. Bangs’
baggage on the floor at my feet.
“Not more’n ten minutes’ walk. You can leave the case here if you want.”
This seemed an inspired suggestion. And so without further delay, we
set off in the direction the woman indicated. The road branched off the
regular motor highway and climbed casually upward, between uneven stone
walls and dusty foliage. “I never expected,” Eve remarked, “to spend
the first day of my vacation trailing a barber!”
“Mrs. Trap said he was in the real estate line.”
“I know. But don’t forget the bottles of hair tonic.”
“I’m not likely to, if I have to lug them about the country much more.”
We walked for perhaps ten minutes without appearing to be getting
anywhere in particular. But as we neared the brow of the hill, we spied
above the trees at a distance back from the road the gray roof of a
house. “This must be the place, don’t you think?” Eve said. “It doesn’t
look as if anybody lived here.”
It certainly didn’t! The big front yard was a perfect jungle of coarse
grass and overgrown bushes and a generally deserted and gone-to-seed
air hung about the whole place. But as we paused there a moment in the
dusty road surveying it, there drifted out to us a wave of delicate
perfume—the scent of flowering rose bushes in the sun—which was like
a gesture of welcome.
Plain but substantial and built to last, as the early settlers were
wont to build them, Craven House stood staunchly waiting for what fate
held in store for it. The blinds were closed and the weatherbeaten
shingles showed more than one gap where the wind and weather had made
headway.
Suddenly there came over me that curious feeling one has at times of
having been there before. “What’s the matter,” Eve inquired. “You look
as if you expected to see a ghost or something!”
“Oh, nothing,” I returned hastily. “Come on, let’s go in. Is the gate
locked?”
But Eve had not stopped to discover. Already as I spoke she was halfway
over the wall. I followed her, dropping down into a thicket on the
other side that fairly reached to my waist. I pointed silently to a
dingy sign nailed to a tree. “No Trespassing,” it said.
“Oh, never mind,” said Eve lightly. “We’ve got to find the elusive Mr.
Bangs, haven’t we?”
“But where is he? I don’t see him anywhere about. Maybe this isn’t the
place after all,” I added, stooping to detach a rose branch from my
stocking.
“It’s the place all right,” Eve returned. “Look, here’s a letterbox on
the gatepost!” CRAVEN, I read the faded lettering. I wondered how many
years it was since the mail carrier had left a letter there.
But Eve was now forging impatiently ahead. We crossed the yard and made
our way through a forest of bushes around the corner of the house. In
the rear, the ground sloped gradually down to what had once evidently
been a quite elaborate garden. The outlines of paths and flower beds
were still discernible. And half hidden among the bushes, I caught
sight of a stone urn and of a blackened stone figure on a pedestal. And
in the middle of it all, was the leaf-filled bowl of a fountain. The
scent of honeysuckle mingled with that of the roses. How sweet it was,
but sad too!
Suddenly I felt Eve gripping my elbow. “There he is!” she whispered.
“Look! There on the other side of that stone thing—creeping on the
ground!” She gave a stifled giggle. “Seems to be one of the quaint
customs of the country!”
Creeping! Yes, she was right, I saw him now. A small, intent, bent-over
figure of a man, on his hands and knees in the tall grass.
“He seems very busy,” I murmured. “Perhaps we ought not to interrupt
him.”
“Nonsense, you want your suitcase, don’t you?”
Mr. Bangs did not see us approaching. He was, as I have said, very much
absorbed. But it was not until we were nearly upon him that we saw that
the thing over which he was bending so intently was a tape measure. For
a full minute, I should say, we stood and watched him. His lips were
moving as if he were making calculations.
Then without warning, he jumped to his feet, dusting his hands on his
trousers. It was then that he saw us.
Well, of course nobody likes to find that he has been watched when he
thought he was alone. Still I did not think that this alone was enough
to account for the convulsion of anger which darkened his face. His
knobby Adam’s apple began to work up and down in a really frightful
manner, and for a moment I thought he was going to choke.
It was Eve’s velvety voice that broke the rather appalling silence.
“I’m afraid we startled you, Mr. Bangs,” she said easily.
A sort of cackling gurgle issued from the man’s throat, which presently
formed itself into words. “Ain’t you seen the sign on the post?” he
snapped, “where’t says ‘No trespassin’’? This here’s private property.”
“I know,” returned Eve gently. “And we’d never have thought of coming
in if we hadn’t been looking for you. It’s about the suitcase, you
know—the one we took by mistake.”
At these words, I was relieved to see the convulsive twitching of the
man’s face subside somewhat. “So,” he snarled, “you’re the party that
run off with my baggage! Well, what you done with it?”
“It’s down at the Inn,” I answered. “It’s rather heavy to lug around
and besides I’m tired.”
“Well, I ain’t ast you to lug it, have I?” he retorted. “’Twas your own
doin’. Say, what’s your game anyway?” he added suspiciously. “I could
have you arrested, I s’pose you know, for ’propriatin’ goods that don’t
belong to you.”
“Could you?” inquired Eve, sniffing at a white tea rose. “But of course
you wouldn’t since you’ve got it back all safe. By the way, where is
ours?”
He glared at her for a moment as if he could not at all make her out.
Then with a shrug he turned away. “It’s standin’ in the hall down to
Trap’s,” he said over his shoulder. “And the next time you go travelin’
round the country without a nurse, I advise you to look sharp and see
whose bags ’tis you’re grabbin’.”
“We certainly will,” returned Eve cheerfully. “It has taught us a
lesson, I’m sure. And thank you so much, Mr. Bangs. We’re awfully sorry
to have put you to all this inconvenience—without your hair tonic and
all!”
Though the last words were uttered in a half whisper, instantly the
man’s right hand shot upward to his head. And it was then that I
noticed for the first time that the hair that covered it was thin and
graying. But his only answer was another shrug and a grunt as he walked
away.
It seemed the moment for us to depart. Looking back, I saw that Mr.
Bangs had again fallen on his knees in front of the stone figure.
As we turned back toward the house, I noticed that the back door stood
ajar. The real estate agent had evidently been taking a look around
before entering into his mysterious calculations in the garden. “Let’s
take a peek inside,” I suggested. “He’ll never see us.”
“All right,” Eve agreed. “I’ll bet there are plenty of perfectly good
family spooks living there!”
“Ghosts,” I retorted, “are out of date.”
The door led directly into a big old-fashioned kitchen. The air smelled
damp and more than a little stuffy. One look around was enough for me.
“Oh, it’s just an ordinary old place,” I said. “Let’s not go in after
all. We must get back in time for dinner, you know.”
“Nonsense, we’ve got loads of time,” Eve said. “Come on, I want to see
what the front part is like. I adore old houses, they’re so full of
atmosphere!”
“Nasty dank atmosphere, I call it!” I followed reluctantly as she led
the way into the hall. It was a big wide hall, running the full length
of the house, and I could well imagine that with the doors wide open
and the sunshine and fresh air pouring in, it might have been
attractive. But it was anything but that now, and I shivered in spite
of myself as our feet echoed on the bare boards. Why in the world had I
ever suggested coming in here!
“This must be the parlor,” Eve was saying with her hand on a door at
the right of the hall.
“Oh, never mind if it is,” I urged. “Don’t let’s bother now.”
“It’s now or never, I suspect,” Eve returned coolly. “What’s the matter
with you, Sandy, haven’t you got any curiosity?”
“I don’t like old houses when nobody lives in ’em,” I confessed. “They
give me the creeps.”
Eve seemed to think this funny, and the sound of her laughter echoed
back from the wide stairway. It was uncanny—as if somebody else had
laughed. And now she was opening the door and stepping across the
threshold into the room which she had correctly guessed was the parlor.
It was a wide, bare room. The windows were shuttered and at only one
place, where some of the slats of the blind had been broken, did any
light come in. This was just enough for us to see by, though in truth
there was little to see. An old horsehair sofa and chairs, a low carved
cabinet in front of a broad fireplace, and above the fireplace, a gilt
and white mantle. The wallpaper showing a pattern of faded rosebuds was
warped and ragged in many places.
“I guess probably people have had lots of good times in this room!” Eve
murmured dreamily.
“A good place for a funeral, if you ask me!” I retorted crossly. “Oh,
do let’s get out, I don’t like the place a bit.”
“Oh, all right,” she said, turning toward the door. “Though I should
love to take a look around upstairs,” she added with a glance toward
the stairway. “I think it’s a love——”
The sentence was never finished. A sound suddenly broke in upon the
stillness. It came from the direction of the kitchen. A sound like the
closing of a door. As we stood there in the middle of the hall, hardly
realizing what was happening, it was followed immediately by another
more ominous one—the unmistakable click of a key as it turned in a
lock.
Then Eve was speeding down the hall. Across the kitchen, and pounding
on the closed door. “Mr. Bangs!” she called. “Oh, I say, wait—wait!”
But there was no answer and no sound from without. Our jailer’s
retreating footsteps were already deadened in the thick grass outside!
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