THE WAY THE SCHEME WORKED OUT
The next morning witnessed the departure of Celia, bag and baggage.
Aside from that one item of interest, nothing occurred that day to
disturb the peace of the household of Las Golondrinas. With Emily now
installed as cook and a very good cook, at that, the loss of Celia’s
services was not so vital, particularly as Emily’s sister, Jennie, had
promised her services the following week.
What signally worried and annoyed Miss Martha, however, was Mr.
Carroll’s regretful announcement at dinner that evening to the effect
that he would not be able to obtain the services of a guard for at
least three days. An unusually large number of private details had
rendered headquarters short of men used for such duty, he explained.
“I’m sorry, Martha, but it can’t be helped,” he consoled. “I’d turn
the job over to one of my black boys, but it wouldn’t be advisable. If
one of them has really been playing ghost, depend upon it, the others
know it. Result, the ghost wouldn’t appear. He’d be warned to lie
low. I’ll stay up myself to-night and watch, if you feel in the least
afraid. Say the word and I’ll stand guard.”
“Certainly not,” promptly vetoed his sister. “I’m not _afraid_. I
merely wish this disagreeable foolishness stopped. We will lock our
doors and barricade them, if necessary. As for the windows opening onto
the patio, I hardly know what to do. It’s not healthful to sleep with
closed windows. They are so high from the floor of the patio, a ghost,
or rather this idiotic person who is playing ghost, would find it hard
work to climb up to them. We may as well leave them open.”
“We can set rows of tinware on the inner edge of the window sills in
such a way that a touch would upset the whole business. If anyone tries
to climb in a window, all the pots and pans will fall into the room
with a grand crash and wake us up,” proposed Mabel. “Besides, the ghost
won’t linger after such a rattle and bang.”
“A good idea,” approved Miss Carroll solemnly.
Eleanor, Bee and Patsy received it with laughter in which Mr. Carroll
joined.
“We’d better make a raid on the kitchen and select our tinware,” said
Eleanor gaily. “I’m proud to have such a resourceful sister. There’s
nothing like getting ready for his ghostship.”
“I don’t imagine you’ll be troubled to-night by spectral intruders,”
Mr. Carroll said seriously. “Such a thing is hardly likely to occur two
nights in succession.”
“Emily’s not afraid, that’s certain,” declared Beatrice. “She’s going
to sleep all alone downstairs to-night. She says she’s ‘not gwine to
git skairt of no ghos’.’”
“I told her she might sleep in that little room at the end of the
portrait gallery, but she said she preferred her own room,” commented
Miss Martha. “I am agreeably surprised to find her not in the least
cowardly or superstitious. It’s fortunate for us.”
“She told me she was going to lock her door and her windows and sleep
with a club and a big bottle of ammonia beside her bed,” informed
Patsy. “If the ghost comes she’s going to give him a warm reception.”
“We all seem to be planning for the ghost’s welfare,” chuckled Mabel.
“Poor ghost. If he knows when he’s well off he’ll stay away from here
to-night.”
Much open discussion of the spectral visitor had served to rob the idea
of its original horror. Instead of a serious menace to tranquillity the
ghost was rapidly becoming a joke.
“We’ve done a little secret preparing of our own,” boasted Patsy in a
whisper to Bee as they strolled out of the dining room, arms twined
about each other’s waists.
True to her determination, Patsy had slipped down to the stable that
morning, commandeered the desired coil of rope and successfully
smuggled it into her room. That afternoon, while Mabel and Eleanor were
taking a walk about the grounds with Miss Carroll, the two conspirators
locked their door and proceeded to test out the most important feature
of their plan.
Patsy found the thin, tough rope admirable for her purpose. The
sleeping room, spacious and square, also lent itself to her plan. The
bed being in one corner left ample room for a free casting of the
lariat. With the quaint mahogany center table moved back against the
wall, she had a clear field.
For an hour Bee patiently allowed herself to be lassoed, moving from
point to point, thereby to test Patsy’s skill. She soon discovered
that her chum was an adept at the art. Wonderfully quick of movement
and sure of aim, Patsy never failed to land the noose over her head,
letting it drop below her shoulders and drawing it taut about her arms
with almost incredible swiftness. At the conclusion of the practice
both agreed that the ghost’s chances were small against “Lariat Patsy,”
as Bee laughingly nicknamed her.
Despite their numerous jests concerning the ghost, the Wayfarers’
hearts beat a trifle faster that night as they went to their rooms.
Earlier in the evening the kitchen had been raided and amid much
mirthful comment a goodly supply of tin and agate ware had been
selected and carried upstairs for window decorations.
Patsy and Bee took part in these preparations merely, as Patsy confided
to her chum, “for the looks of things.” Both considered their own
private scheme as much more likely to bear fruit.
On retiring to their room for the night the door was dutifully locked.
For half an hour the two sat talking with the lamps burning, waiting
for the house to grow absolutely quiet. At ten minutes to twelve, Patsy
brought forth the lariat from its hiding place in her trunk. Next,
both girls slipped out of their white frocks only to don dark gowns
which would not betray their presence in the room to the nocturnal
intruder they were planning to receive.
“Shall I put out the lights?” whispered Bee.
“Yes. Then stand in that space opposite the door and see if I can rope
you,” breathed Patsy.
Quickly Bee extinguished the two oil bracket lamps and a large oil
lamp that stood on a pedestal in a corner. Into the room the moonlight
poured whitely, lighting it fairly well except in the corners.
“All ready?” softly questioned Patsy, moving back toward the end of the
room farthest from the door.
“Yes,” came the sibilant whisper.
An instant and Patsy had made a successful cast.
“It works splendidly,” she softly exulted. “Lets try it again.”
A few more trials of her prowess and she was satisfied to recoil the
rope and sit down on the bed beside Bee.
“It’s time to unlock the door, Bee,” she murmured as the chime of
midnight rang faintly on their ears from a tall clock at the end of the
corridor.
“All right.”
Bee rose, tiptoed softly to the door and turned the key. Stealing back
across the room she took up her position of vigilance a few feet from
Patsy, seating herself upon a little low stool.
Patsy had posted herself on the edge of her trunk, lariat coiled, ready
to spring into action at a moments notice. Over the house now hung the
uncanny silence of midnight, so tense in its stillness that the two
watchers could hear each other breathe.
For the first half hour neither experienced any Special discomfort. By
the time that one o’clock had come and gone, both were beginning to
feel the strain of sitting absolutely still in one position.
The distant note of the half hour found them weary, but holding their
ground. Patsy was worse off than Bee. Bee could relax, at least
a little, while she had to sit on the extreme edge of her trunk,
constantly on the alert. Should their expected visitor enter the room,
she must act with the swiftness of lightning or all their patient
watching would have been in vain.
As she sat there it suddenly occurred to her how horrified her aunt
would be, could she know what was going on only a few yards from where
she slumbered so peacefully. Patsy could not resist giving a soft
little chuckle.
“What is it?” whispered Bee.
“Nothing. Tell you to-morrow. I guess we can go to bed soon.”
“I guess so. It’s almost two o’clock.”
Silence again descended. The clock chimed three-quarters of the hour.
Its plaintive voice ceased and the hush deepened until it seemed to
Patsy almost too profound for endurance. And then it was broken by a
sound, as of a door being softly opened.
Bee’s heart nearly skipped a beat as she listened. Patsy felt the cold
chills race up and down her spine. Two pairs of eyes were now fastened
in strained attention on the door. Was it opening? Yes, it surely was;
slowly, very slowly. It was open at last! A huge white shape stood
poised on the threshold. It moved forward with infinite caution. It had
halted now, exactly on the spot where Bee had lately stood while Patsy
tried out her prowess with the lariat.
Over in the corner Patsy was gathering herself together for the fateful
cast. Up from the trunk she now shot like a steel spring. Through the
air with a faint swishing sound the lariat sped. She pulled it taut
to an accompaniment of the most blood-curdling shrieks she had ever
heard. Next instant she felt herself being jerked violently forward.
“Bee!” she shouted desperately. “Take hold. I’m going!”
Bee sprang for the rope and missed it. Patsy shot past her across the
room, headed for the door. Stubbornly clinging to the rope, she was
bumped violently against the door casing, dragged through the doorway
and on into the corridor.
As she shot down the stone passageway she was dimly conscious of doors
opening along it and voices crying out in alarm. On she went, propelled
by that sinister, terrible force ahead. Now she had bumped around
another corner and was entering the picture gallery. At the ends and in
the center of it bracket lamps burned dimly.
She could see the enormous white shape. It had paused in the center of
the gallery. The relentless force had slackened. The rope now lay in
loose coils along the gallery. And then something happened which nearly
took Patsy’s breath.
Even in that faint light she saw the picture of the cavalier move
forward. The huge white shape leaped straight to meet it. The rope
began to move along the floor again. Patsy braced herself and tightened
her grasp on the end she still held. Wonder of wonders! The apparition
had disappeared.
Patsy heard an oddly familiar sound. Next she realized that the savage
jerking of the rope had not begun again. As she stood staring at it,
still clutching it tightly, there began again those same awful shrieks,
mingled with snarls such as a cornered wild beast might utter.
In the midst of them she was suddenly surrounded by a frantic little
group of persons. She heard her father saying: “Thank God, she’s safe!”
She felt consciousness slipping from her like a cloak.
“The rope--hold the rope,” she mumbled, and pitched forward into a pair
of extended arms.