A FAMILIAR FACE
For an instant, Nancy Drew was spellbound. Her eyes dilated with fear,
she stood like a stone image, gazing down into the face of Jacob Aborn.
How had the rascal reached the bungalow ahead of her? What was he doing
in the cellar? A dozen questions flashed through her mind, but the one
which troubled her the most was whether or not the man had seen her.
As Nancy was held in a paralysis of fear, the light in her flashlight
flickered again. Then, it went out, leaving her in total darkness.
Sheer panic took possession of Nancy. Turning, she gave a low cry and
stumbled up the stairway. Jerking open the door at the top, she ran
through the room. Her flight was abruptly checked as she crashed into a
table.
Reaching out to catch herself from falling, Nancy’s hand touched an
object. Eagerly, she felt of it and discovered that it was a lantern.
Snatching it up, she stumbled on.
Coming to a door she pulled it open. To her chagrin she ran into a wall.
She had entered a closet.
Frantically, she rushed out again, and found another door to the left.
She had made no mistake this time, and to her relief found herself in
the living room. In desperate haste she reached the window, and,
climbing through, leaped to the porch.
Fully expecting to hear a shot behind her, she ran as fast as she could
across the clearing to the forest.
Breathless, she reached the shelter of the trees and paused to look
back. To her astonishment she was not being followed. Jacob Aborn was
nowhere in sight. The old bungalow appeared as deserted and silent as
before.
“That’s queer,” she told herself. “Perhaps he didn’t see me after all.”
A moment’s serious consideration convinced her that this reasoning was
not logical, for she had made a great deal of noise clattering up the
steps. It was inconceivable that he had not heard her when she stumbled
into the table, nearly overturning it.
“I don’t believe I imagined it,” she thought in perplexity. “I’m sure it
was Jacob Aborn I saw in that cellar. But how did he get here ahead of
me?”
She gravely reflected for a minute. Laura’s guardian had retired to his
bedroom before she had slipped from the house. Presumably, she had left
him sound asleep. How could he have dressed and reached the bungalow so
quickly?
“I wonder if it could have been Jacob Aborn,” she mused. “After I left
his house I didn’t waste a minute. I came directly here in the roadster.
He couldn’t have beaten me to it unless he flew!”
For several minutes, Nancy Drew stood in the shadows of the trees
watching the bungalow. After considerable time had elapsed and still no
one appeared, she began to grow curious as well as impatient.
“I know there was someone in that cellar,” she assured herself, “and I’d
like to find out who it is. If I only had a light, I’d be tempted to go
back.”
As the daring thought occurred to her, she glanced down and noticed that
she was still clutching the lantern which she had snatched from the
table as she ran. She had picked it up purely on impulse, without
thinking that she might use it later. Now she decided that it would
serve a useful purpose. There was only one drawback—it was not lighted.
“A lot of good it will do me without a match,” she murmured in disgust.
As she stood staring gloomily at the lantern, she feared that she must
admit defeat. Brave as she was, she hesitated to return to the bungalow
without a light to guide her. If only she had brought an extra
flashlight battery with her! Or her father’s revolver!
“I wouldn’t be afraid if I had some way to protect myself,” she told
herself. “Or if I could see where I was going.”
As she stood gazing moodily at the old, deserted house, a thought came
to her. Eagerly she began to search through her pockets. To her delight,
after thrusting her hand into the last pocket, she brought out a small
box of matches. She had used the matches while in camp at Moon Lake,
keeping them in a waterproof container for an emergency. She had
carelessly left them in her dress pocket, and upon returning home had
forgotten all about them. For once her negligence had been to her
advantage.
Hastily opening the box, she found several matches left. Examining the
lantern, she was encouraged to discover that it was nearly full of oil.
Striking a match upon a stone, she applied it to the wick.
Before the wick ignited, a mischievous gust of wind extinguished the
flame. Nancy tried again, and to her disgust, the second match met a
similar fate.
In alarm she felt in the box. There was only one match left. If she
failed in her next attempt she would be without a light.
Stepping back into the forest so that the wind would not strike her, she
hopefully struck the last match. As the flame spurted up, she applied it
to the lantern and was gratified to see it ignite the wick.
“I’d better cover the lantern while I cross the clearing,” she advised
herself. “I don’t want to make myself a gun target.”
Stripping off her sweater, she wrapped it around the lantern, and then
set off toward the bungalow. As she stole cautiously forward she
frequently paused to listen. No unusual sound disturbed the tranquillity
of the night. The old bungalow was as quiet as a tomb.
The queer place looked unusually queer at this hour of the night, and it
was no wonder that Nancy paused as she gazed upon it.
“There’s some terrible mystery here—I’m sure of it,” she breathed to
herself. “I’ve got to be careful. I don’t want to be caught napping.”
The girl looked around her in all directions. No one was in sight and
not a sound disturbed the silence.
For one brief instant as she drew closer to the building Nancy had an
inclination to turn and flee. Then she braced herself.
“I won’t do it!” she told herself. “I came here to find out what all
this means and I’m going to do it. Nancy Drew, don’t be a goose. This
isn’t half as bad as things were at the Turnbull mansion. And remember
what you went through with to get the old clock!” and she braced up once
more.
After a slight hesitation, Nancy Drew crept up on the porch. For the
second time that evening she experienced an uneasy sensation. It was not
so much the fear that she was running into danger as it was a feeling
that she was being followed.
Boldly, she thrust her head and shoulders through the window. Nothing
but an oppressive silence greeted her.
“Have I been dreaming?” Nancy thought in perplexity. “Is it possible
there’s no one in the bungalow after all?”
Somewhat impatient at herself, she placed the lantern upon the floor and
climbed through the window. Picking up the light, she flashed it about
the room. Reassured, she tiptoed forward.
A board creaked underfoot, and she paused nervously. Then from below she
heard a peculiar noise. It sounded like a moan of pain.
Startled, Nancy Drew held herself rigid, scarcely daring to move a
muscle. As she listened she heard the sound again. This time she knew
there was no mistake. Someone had groaned.
“Oh, what shall I do?” she asked herself nervously. “Who can it be?”
At that moment a pitiful cry arose from the floor below.
“Help!”
Nancy opened her lips, but no sound issued forth. She tried again, and
scarcely recognized her own voice.
“Who’s there?” she demanded shakily.
The only response was another feeble call.
“Help! Help!”
The cry echoed through the deserted bungalow, ending in a plaintive
wail. Then the house became silent.