THE MYSTERY
Marjorie hurried with her dressing and rushed downstairs on Sunday
morning, eager to hear the explanations of Anna’s aunt. The previous
night the occurrence had appeared wild, but plausible; now, in the clear
morning light, it seemed absurd. She felt sure that either she or the
woman had been dreaming.
Although most of the girls put in an early appearance in the
dining-room, they were disappointed to find that Mrs. McCreedy was still
in bed. They tried to allay their curiosity by discussing the affair
from all possible angles.
“I really believe,” announced Lily, “that there is some superhuman power
in that house that is responsible for this deed!”
“And I agree with you,” said Mrs. Munsen, firmly. “We have plenty of
proof of spirits’ manifesting themselves in the Bible—so it is not a
subject to be laughed at, or put aside as childish.”
“Lots of other people—older and wiser than we are—think the place is
haunted!” put in Marie Louise.
“Well, I simply don’t believe it!” said Marjorie. “It’s much more likely
that Anna has been kidnapped.”
“But why would anybody want to kidnap a poor servant girl?” asked
Florence, practically. “There wouldn’t be any hope of ransom.”
“Maybe it was a rejected suitor,” suggested Alice, always looking for
the romantic.
“It really is a waste of time to make all these conjectures,” remarked
Ethel, “before we have heard the facts in the case. The woman may have
been dreaming, or Anna sleep-walking.”
“Let’s take the car and go down to the tea-house right away!”
interrupted Lily. “Maybe we have had all our fears for nothing.”
“No, let’s wait till the aunt appears,” said Marjorie; “and then go.”
All this time Ethel had been scanning the newspaper for news, but she
did not find even the slightest report from the police.
“You see the papers didn’t have sufficient facts to warrant a story,”
she remarked. “So I should think—”
“Good morning, girls! Has Anna been heard from?” interrupted a woman’s
voice from the stairs, and, looking up, they saw Mrs. McCreedy enter the
room. She was a middle-aged person, of stolid build, not at all the type
one would expect to find nervous or imaginative.
“Good morning, Mrs. McCreedy,” said Mrs. Munsen, pleasantly. “No news
yet; but we are expecting to hear any minute. You met the girls last
night. How do you feel this morning?”
“Much better,” replied the other. “In fact, I’d feel all right, if I
wasn’t worried about Anna.”
“Let’s have breakfast,” suggested Mrs. Munsen; “and you can tell us the
whole story.”
They all sat down at the table, and the girls turned expectant,
questioning faces towards their visitor. They were more interested in
hearing what she had to say than in eating their food.
“Well,” began Mrs. McCreedy, “you remember Mrs. Munsen and the young
lady left the tea-house just about twelve o’clock—and the party broke up
right away. Two or three of the fellows wanted to hang around and help
put the things back in place, but Anna wouldn’t hear of it. She said her
orders was twelve o’clock, and she meant to stick by them.
“After everybody was gone, we gathered up the food and put it away, and
then went straight up stairs to the room where the army cots are, and
spread out our blankets. We took off our good dresses, and put on our
work dresses which we had brought with us, for we didn’t want to be
bothered with night clothes.
“It was pretty hot, so we opened all the windows where there was
screens, and we could hear the automobiles passing plain in the public
road. They was getting fewer and fewer, and I was just dropping off to
sleep, when Anna set up sudden in her bed, and reached over and touched
me on the arm.
“‘Hear that, Aunt Mary?’ she whispered.
“‘What?’ says I.
“‘That moving around—in the stable!’
“‘Pshaw! Anna! That ain’t nothing!’ I says. ‘Go to sleep!’
“But she wouldn’t lie down.
“‘Aunt!’ she says again, ‘I wonder if I locked the back door.’
“‘Oh, I guess so!’ says I. I was that sleepy I didn’t care.
“But she was standing up now, putting on her pumps. And before I could
say a word, she was creeping quiet like down the steps.”
“Oh!” gasped Lily, who had not eaten a mouthful during this recital.
“And you followed her?”
“No—not at first,” replied Mrs. McCreedy. “I heard her unbolt the back
door—you see, she had locked it after all, just as I suspected. A minute
later I heard her bolt it again, and first thing you know, I was off in
a doze again.”
“But if she locked the door again, how did she get out of the house?”
demanded Ethel. “Did somebody drag her through a window?”
“That’s just what I can’t tell you!” replied Mrs. McCreedy. “When I
wakened up again—it must have been about half an hour later, judging
from when I got here—and I missed her, I got up and searched the house.
Both doors was locked and bolted on the inside, and all the screens was
still hooked in the windows—from the inside. But Anna had entirely
disappeared!”
“It’s the ghost! I told you so!” whispered Marie Louise, her face as
white as the table cloth.
“Maybe she fell down the cellar,” suggested Marjorie, unwilling to
accept the supernatural theory.
“I thought of that,” said Mrs. McCreedy, “because the door was open—I
think one of the boys went down cellar for a joke, during the party, and
forgot to close the door. So I took a candle and went down—not that I
enjoyed doing it much, but I didn’t want to leave Anna there unconscious
if she fell down—but there wasn’t a sign of her!”
“And evidently the police didn’t find her, from the message they gave
over the telephone,” said Florence.
“You left the door open when you came out?” asked Marjorie. “So that the
police surely got in?”
“You bet I did!” replied the older woman. “The minute I was certain Anna
was gone, I knew there was something queer about the house, and I opened
the door and ran as fast as I could. It never entered my head to shut
it!”
The girls were all trembling as they listened to the conclusion, and
Daisy and Marie Louise were sobbing. Marjorie, on the other hand, was
eager for action.
“It must have been robbers!” she cried, jumping up from her chair in
excitement. “They probably bound and gagged Anna, and by this time our
tea-house is in ruins! There isn’t a minute to lose—”
“Wait a second, Marjorie!” cautioned Ethel, grasping the other girl’s
hands, and holding her still. “If those things had happened the police
would have found out and let us know. But I will telephone headquarters
again—and you and Lily get the car and go down to the tea-house.”
“Yes, you’re right, Ethel,” admitted Marjorie, struggling to get control
of herself again, “and we’ll do as you suggest.”
The walk to the garage where Lily kept her car and the ride to the
tea-house were just enough to restore Marjorie’s equilibrium. By the
time they had reached their destination, she was conversing in quite her
usual manner.
“We’ll have to close for today, won’t we?” asked Lily, as they turned
into the drive.
“That all depends upon the state in which we find things,” answered
Marjorie. “If we have been robbed of much, of course it will be
impossible—”
“Hold on, there, girls!” interrupted a somewhat gruff, masculine voice.
“We want to examine the driveway for tracks.”
Lily stopped the car instantly, and, looking back towards the garage,
distinguished two policemen, intently studying the sandy gravel of the
drive.
“There are the tracks of the Ford we came in last night,” remarked
Marjorie, as she jumped out of the car. “And they have not been
disturbed!”
“You got the woman’s story from one of our party?” asked Lily,
approaching the policeman.
“Oh, yes,” he replied. “And we searched everything thoroughly last night
after you phoned, but we couldn’t find a thing. Have you a picture of
the girl?”
“No,” replied Marjorie, “but I think I can get you one. You want it for
the papers?”
“Yes—and to help us locate her, and get her back.”
“Then you don’t think she is dead?” Marjorie’s voice trembled so that
she could scarcely speak.
“No—I think she’ll turn up. It’s more than likely some love-affair,”
said the policeman, indifferently. “Because, as far as we can see, there
has been no robbery.”
“Thank goodness for that!” breathed Marjorie.
The girls hurried anxiously into the house, and searched it from cellar
to attic; but they found no traces of Anna. Everything was just as it
had been at the party the previous night; even the food was where Anna
had put it; the silverware, the china, the furnishings were untouched.
Marjorie uttered a sigh of relief.
“I begin to think that policeman is right,” she said hopefully. “Maybe
it is only an elopement, after all.”
“But how could she get out?” questioned Lily.
“Oh, lovers have all sorts of devices,” replied Marjorie. “I mean to put
that suggestion up to Mrs. McCreedy when I see her again.”
By the time that the rest of the scouts arrived, Marjorie felt entirely
confident that she had guessed at the solution. The policeman had gone
and the girls began to straighten up the house and prepare the menu for
the afternoon. But they had so much to talk about that their progress
was hampered.
There were two prevailing opinions as to the explanation of the strange
occurrence: the theory that Marjorie held in regard to an elopement—a
theory which was shared by Ethel, Florence, and Alice; and the
supernatural hypothesis, held by Lily, Daisy, and Marie Louise. Both the
older women—Mrs. Munsen and Mrs. McCreedy—who arrived at the tea-house
during the course of the morning, subscribed to the latter view.
Upon Marjorie’s urging, however, Mrs. McCreedy promised to call up one
or two of the young people to request that they get in touch with the
others and question them about the possibilities of an elopement. But
when, an hour later, she reported that all the boys had been located,
and that no one suspected such an intention on Anna’s part, the girl’s
spirits visibly fell.
By noon everything at the tea-house appeared as usual, in readiness for
the afternoon. With the publicity which the affair would undoubtedly
bring them, Marjorie felt that it would be unwise to close the place.
Even if Anna were ill or dead, it would not help her in any way for the
girls to be idle.
When they returned after dinner they found the porch already crowded
with patrons whose curiosity had brought them there. Marjorie smiled
grimly as she thought of the financial assistance such a boom would
produce at a time when they so sorely needed it. Late in the afternoon
she was obliged to send out for additional food, and all of the girls
stayed right through supper time to help.
As closing time drew near, Marjorie had a short conference with Ethel,
and both girls agreed that it would be best to send again for the
police. The same men came who had been there in the morning, and both
girls were again impressed by their indifference.
“What would you advise us to do?” asked Marjorie of the superior
officer.
“Do?” he repeated, woodenly. “There’s nothing to do, Miss!”
“But don’t you think we ought to take definite steps to find the missing
girl?” she persisted.
“We’re doing all we can,” he replied, sullenly.
“Oughtn’t we to hire a detective?” asked Ethel.
The policeman shrugged his shoulders in contempt.
“My dear young lady, detectives are seldom any good—except in books. And
besides—they’re mighty expensive!”
Marjorie’s brow clouded; she knew they could not afford to spend much
money, for they were not yet out of the woods financially. Nevertheless,
regardless of her personal feeling in the matter, she believed that, as
the girl’s employers, they should do all within their power to find her.
“If you could suggest anything—” she began.
“Would one or two of your men be willing to spend a night here?”
interrupted Ethel.
“Maybe,” replied the officer. “I guess so. When?”
“Tonight, if possible!” urged Marjorie. “We mustn’t delay!”
“All right; but it won’t do no good. It ain’t likely anybody’s come
around now. I’ll ask the sergeant.”