WHAT HAPPENED AT THE HAUNTED HOUSE
The moment that Grace left Marian, she set her active brain at work for
some solution of the problem she had taken upon her own shoulders. She
had no money, and the members of her sorority had none. Besides, Grace
inwardly resolved not to tell the other girls were it possible to avoid
doing so.
Mrs. Gray would be home before long, and Grace knew that the gentle old
lady would gladly advance the money rather than see Marian disgraced.
But Eleanor had planned to denounce Marian on Thursday, and it was now
Monday.
There was but one course to pursue, and that was to go to Eleanor and
beg her to renounce her scheme of vengeance. Grace felt very dubious as
to the outcome of such an interview. Eleanor had in the past proved
anything but tractable.
"I'll go to-night," decided Grace. "I'm not afraid of the dark. If
mother objects, I'll take Bridget along for protection, although she's
the greatest coward in the world."
Grace giggled a little as she thought of Bridget in the role of
protector.
That night she hurried through her supper, and, barely tasting her
dessert, said abruptly:
"Mother, may I go to Eleanor Savelli's this evening?"
"Away out to 'Heartsease,' Grace? Who is going with you?"
"No one," replied Grace truthfully. "Mother, please don't say no. I
simply must see Eleanor at once."
"But I thought that you were not friendly with Eleanor," persisted Mrs.
Harlowe.
"That is true," Grace answered, "but just now that is the very thing I
want to be. It's this way, mother. Eleanor is going to try to make some
trouble for Marian Barber in the class, and I must act at once if it is
to be prevented."
"More school-girl difficulties," commented Mrs. Harlowe, with a smile.
"But how does it happen that you always seem to be in the thick of the
fight, Grace?"
"I don't know, mother," sighed Grace. "No one dislikes quarrels more
than I do. May I go?"
"Yes," assented her mother, "but you must take Bridget with you. I'll
see her at once and tell her to get ready."
It had been a raw, disagreeable day, and towards evening a cold rain had
set in that was practically half snow. It was anything but an enviable
night for a walk, and Bridget grumbled roundly under her breath as she
wrapped herself in the voluminous folds of a water-proof cape and took
down a huge, dark-green cotton umbrella from its accustomed nail behind
the kitchen door.
"Miss Grace do be crazy to be goin' out this night. It's rheumatics I
shall have to-morrow in all me bones," she growled.
She plodded along at Grace's side with such an injured expression that
Grace felt like laughing outright at the picture of offended dignity
that she presented.
Grace chatted gayly as they proceeded and Bridget answered her sallies
with grunts and monosyllables. When they reached the turn of the road
Grace said:
"Bridget, let's take the short cut. The walking is good and we'll save
ten minutes' time by doing it."
"Phast that haunted house?" gasped Bridget. "Niver! May the saints
presarve us from hants."
"Nonsense," laughed Grace. "There are no such things as ghosts, and you
know it. If you're afraid you can go back and wait at your cousin's for
me. She lives near here, doesn't she?"
"I will that," replied Bridget fervently, "but don't ye be too long
gone, Miss Grace."
"I won't stay long," promised Grace, and hurried down the road, leaving
Bridget to proceed with much grumbling to her cousin's house.
The house that Bridget had so flatly refused to pass was a two-story
affair of brick that set well back from the highway. There were rumors
afloat that a murder had once been committed there, and that the
apparition of the victim, an old man, walked about at night moaning in
true ghost fashion.
To be sure no one had as yet been found who had really seen the spectre
old man, nevertheless the place kept its ghost reputation and was
generally avoided.
Grace, who was nothing if not daring, never lost an opportunity to pass
the old house, and jeered openly when any one talked seriously of the
"ghost."
Now, she smiled to herself as she rapidly neared the house, at Bridget's
evident fear of the supernatural.
"What a goose Bridget is," she murmured. "Just as though there
were----" She stopped abruptly and stared in wonder at the old house.
On the side away from the road was a small wing, and through one of the
windows of this wing gleamed a tiny point of light.
"A light," she said aloud in surprise. "How strange. The ghost must be
at home. Perhaps I was mistaken. No, there it is again. Ghost or no
ghost, I'm going to see what it is."
Suiting the action to the words, Grace stole softly up the deserted walk
and crouched under the window from whence the light had come. Clinging
to the window ledge, she cautiously raised herself until her head was on
a level with the glass. What she saw caused her to hold her breath with
astonishment. Was she awake or did she dream? At one side of the room
stood a small table, and on the table, in full view of her incredulous
eyes, stood the strong box which had held the bazaar money that had been
spirited away on Thanksgiving night. Bending over it, the light from his
dark lantern shining full on the lock, was the man whom she had accused
on the train.
[Illustration: Grace Held Her Breath in Astonishment]
Thrilled for the moment by her discovery, Grace forgot everything except
what was going on inside the room. The man was making vain efforts to
hit upon the combination. How long he had been there Grace had no idea.
She could not take her eyes from the box which contained their
hard-earned money.
Minutes went by, but still she watched in a fever of apprehension for
fear he might accidentally discover the combination. Unsuccessful in his
attempts, he finally straightened up with an exclamation of anger and
disgust. Going over to a small cupboard built in the wall, he opened it,
and, stooping, pressed his finger against some hidden spring. Then the
wall opened and the light from the lantern disclosed an inside recess.
Lifting the box, he carried it over and deposited it in the opening, and
at his touch the panel slid back into place. Quickly locking the
cupboard, he placed the key in his pocket, and, extinguishing the
lantern, strode towards the door.
Once outside, he passed so close to Grace that by stretching out her
hand she might easily have touched him, as she lay flat on the
rain-soaked ground, scarcely daring to breathe.
The stranger paused to lock the door, and Grace heard him mutter: "Nice
night to send a pal out in, and on a still hunt, too. Nothing short of
soup'll open up that claim. If the rest of the jobs he's goin' to pull
off are like this hand out, me to shake this rube joint."
The echo of his footsteps died away and Grace ventured to raise herself
from her uncomfortable position. She peered into the blackness of the
night, but could see nothing. Rising to her feet, she stealthily circled
the house and set off at her best speed for "Heartsease."
"There'll be plenty of work for Eleanor and me to do this night," she
thought. "If only she will help me now, and she must. She can't refuse.
It's for the honor of the senior class."
Giving the old-fashioned knocker a vigorous pull, Grace waited
impatiently for admittance.
"Is Miss Savelli at home?" asked Grace eagerly, the moment the maid
opened the door.
"No, ma'am," answered the girl. "She and her aunt are in Oakdale
to-night. We expect them any minute now."
Grace groaned inwardly.
"What shall I do?" she asked herself. "I must get that money away from
there to-night. To-morrow may be too late, and besides I feel sure that
that dreadful man won't return to-night. This is our opportunity and we
mustn't neglect it."
The maid eyed her curiously. "You are Miss Harlowe, aren't you?" she
asked.
"Yes," said Grace. "May I wait here for Miss Savelli?"
"Certainly, miss. Let me take your rain coat and cap. It's a terrible
night, isn't it?"
Before Grace had time to answer the click of a latchkey was heard, and
the maid said, "There they are."
Eleanor stepped part way into the hall before she became aware of
Grace's presence. A look of surprise, followed by one of extreme dislike
crossed her face. Drawing herself up, she was about to speak, when Grace
exclaimed: "Don't say a word, Eleanor, until you hear what I have to
say. I came here to-night to discuss a very personal matter with you,
but something so strange has happened that I must defer what I had to
say until another time and ask you if you will help me to-night."
"I don't understand," said Eleanor coldly. "Please explain yourself."
"Eleanor," Miss Nevin interposed, "Miss Harlowe is evidently very much
agitated over something, therefore do not waste time over useless
formality. I knew you, my dear, from the picture I saw of you at Mrs.
Gray's," she added, turning to Grace, with a winning smile, that caused
the young girl to love her immediately.
"Eleanor," said Grace quickly, "I have found the bazaar money that was
stolen Thanksgiving night."
"Found it!" exclaimed Eleanor incredulously. "Where?"
"At the old haunted house," replied Grace.
Then she rapidly narrated the story of her walk, her curiosity as to the
light, and the sight that it had revealed to her.
Eleanor and her aunt listened without interrupting.
"When I saw him put the money away and leave the house, I felt that he
wouldn't try it again until daylight, so I came straight here," Grace
continued. "If you will take your run-about down to the road where it
runs near to the house, you and I can easily get the box and carry it to
the machine. It will take two of us, because it's very heavy. I know I
can find the secret of the panel, but we shall have to break open the
door of the cupboard. I am not afraid, and, somehow, Eleanor, I felt
that you would have plenty of the right brand of courage."
"I am not afraid," responded Eleanor, flushing at Grace's words, "but I
know I should never have displayed the courage that you have. I should
never have dared dashing up to a haunted house to investigate uncanny
lights."
"My dear child," exclaimed Miss Nevin, "do you suppose that I would
allow you two slips of girls to prowl around that old house alone, on a
night like this?"
"Miss Nevin," Grace's voice rose in its earnestness, "we must get that
money to-night, even if I have to go back there alone. It belongs to us,
and we simply can't let it slip through our fingers."
"And so you shall get it," was the answer, "but with John, the coachman,
for a bodyguard."
"May we go this minute?" chorused both girls.
"Yes," nodded Miss Nevin. "I'll send word to John to get out the
run-about and take you at once."
Ten minutes later John, the coachman, and the two girls had squeezed
into the run-about and were making as good time to the haunted house as
the darkness would permit. The heavy outside door was found to be
securely padlocked, and the windows were locked. With two blows of the
small axe that he had brought with him, John shattered the glass of the
very window through which Grace had peered, and, climbing in, helped the
two girls in after him.
By the light of the two lanterns they had brought, the cupboard was
easily located and opened and a diligent search was made for the hidden
spring.
"Shall I smash in the paneling, miss?" asked the coachman.
"Perhaps you'd better," assented Grace. "I don't seem to be able to find
the key to the riddle." She endeavored to step out of John's way, and as
she did so, struck her foot smartly against the back wall of the
cupboard near to the floor. There was a curious grating sound and the
panel slid back, revealing the welcome sight of the strong box reposing
in the recess.
Unwittingly Grace had touched the secret spring. Both girls cried out in
triumph. Then, hurrying to the window, they climbed out, ready to
receive the box. John set it on the window-sill, and, though very heavy,
Grace and Eleanor combined forces and lowered it to the ground. Leaping
over the sill, the coachman picked it up, and the three set off at full
speed down the path.
The ride back to "Heartsease" was a memorable one to at least two of the
occupants of the machine. But few remarks were exchanged. Each girl was
busy with her own thoughts. The circumstances that had brought them
together seemed too remarkable for mere words.
"'To the victors belong the spoils,'" called Grace as she hopped out of
the run-about before John could assist her, with Eleanor at her heels,
while the coachman followed more slowly, bearing the box.
The rain was still falling, but it was doubtful whether either girl was
sensible to the fact that her hair was heavy with dampness and her
clothing and shoes were wet.
"My dear, you had better allow Eleanor to provide you with dry clothing
and remain with her to-night," suggested Miss Nevin as they entered the
hall. Then ringing for the maid, she ordered hot chocolate.
"I wish you would stay with me, Grace," said Eleanor rather shyly. "I
have a great deal to say to you."
"And I to you, Eleanor," Grace responded.
For a moment they stood facing one another. What they saw seemed to
satisfy them. Their hands reached out simultaneously and met in a firm
clasp.
"Will you kiss me, Grace?" was what Eleanor said.
"With all my heart," was the answer. And with that kiss all resentment
and hard feeling died out forever.
"You are surely going to stay with me to-night," coaxed Eleanor. "We
will send word to your mother."
But with Eleanor's remark the remembrance of her promise to her mother
came back with a rush.
"Good gracious, Eleanor! I promised mother that I'd be home at nine
o'clock. What time is it now?"
"It's half past ten," replied Eleanor, consulting her watch.
"Poor Bridget," mourned Grace. "She will be sure to think that the
ghosts have spirited me away. I must go this minute, before search
parties are sent out for me. But I'll see you to-morrow Eleanor, for I
need your help."
Just then Miss Nevin, who had left the room, returned with a tray on
which were tiny sandwiches and a pot of chocolate.
"You must have some refreshment, Grace," she said. "Eleanor, do the
honors."
Grace was made to eat and drink, then, placing herself under John's
protection, she returned to Oakdale in Eleanor's run-about, stopping on
her way home at the house of Bridget's cousin, where she found the
faithful though irate Bridget awaiting her in a state of anxiety
bordering upon frenzy.
"Don't fuss, Bridget," consoled Grace. "The banshees didn't get me, and
you're going to ride home in an automobile. That ought to make you feel
better."
The prospect of the ride completely mollified Bridget, and by the time
they reached home she fairly radiated good nature.
"Your ideas of time are somewhat peculiar, Grace," remarked her mother
as Grace entered the living room, where her mother and father sat
reading. "If Bridget had not been with you I should have been most
uneasy."
But Grace was too full of her news to make other answer than cry out:
"Oh, mother, we found it! We did, truly!"
"What is the child talking about?" asked her father. And then Grace
launched forth with an account of her night's doings.
"Well, I never!" was all Mr. Harlowe could find words for when his
daughter had finished.
"What shall I do with you, Grace?" said her mother in despair. "You will
be injured or killed yet, in some of your mad excursions."
"Trust to me to land right side up with care," answered Grace
cheerfully.
"I'll call at the police station early to-morrow morning and have the
chief send some one up to that old house," said Mr. Harlowe. "From what
you heard the thief say, he must have a confederate. Perhaps the chief's
men will get both of them."
"Perhaps so," replied Grace, but she had a shrewd idea as to who the
confederate might be, and felt that if her suppositions were correct
there was not much chance of his incriminating himself.