THE NIGHT AT THE TEA-HOUSE
The six boys who were preparing to spend the night at the tea-house
stopped at Harris’s early after supper on the day selected for their
adventure. All the girls except those who were on their vacations were
waiting on the porch to see them.
“Tell us what you are taking!” begged Marjorie, as they came up on the
porch.
“Well, let’s see,” said John. “Not a whole lot—a blanket apiece—”
“Oh, I don’t mean that kind of things!” interrupted Marjorie. “I mean
interesting things!”
“Oh—well, a revolver apiece, flash-lights, cigarettes, matches, and so
forth. By the way, is anybody going to get us any breakfast tomorrow
morning?”
“We’ll all be down early,” said Lily. “I for one don’t expect to sleep a
wink!”
“Just watch her!” laughed Marjorie.
“Well, I hope we do get a little excitement out of it,” remarked Jack.
“I’ll certainly be disappointed if nothing more happens to us than to
those cops.”
“Jack, you oughtn’t to talk that way,” remonstrated Daisy, who in
reality was as worried as Lily and Doris. “Suppose something awful does
happen!”
“Suppose we see spirits, like Anna!” remarked Jack. “And make you girls
fiddle with ouija boards and go to seances in darkened rooms—”
“At least it would be thrilling,” remarked Ethel. “But I never will
believe anything till I see for myself.”
“Your turn’s coming, Ethel,” said Marjorie. “You and I are going to
spend a night there soon.”
“Oh, please don’t!” begged Lily; but both girls laughed at her.
The boys stayed until ten o’clock, and Marjorie and Ethel told all the
gruesome, ghostly stories they could think of; but without any effect
whatever, for the boys went off as cheerful as ever and as
light-hearted.
It was a still night. A full moon, which seemed to be suspended in an
inanimate sky, made the road before them easily distinguishable in the
darkness. There was something peculiar in the appearance of the moon,
and even the sky looked strange. The boys commented upon it. But they
could not make up their minds that it was a feeling of suppressed
excitement within them, and not the moon and the sky, which made them
feel that something was about to happen.
“I’ll bet it rains tomorrow,” remarked John. “Maybe tonight. Look at
those clouds up there—hardly moving. It’s sultry, too; not a leaf
stirring.”
“Guess you’re right,” assented Jack. “Once we get inside the house, let
it come, say I; and the spirits can bring their umbrellas with them.
Gee! but it’s hot!”
“You speak the truth,” said Bill Warner, who was rather stout. “Let’s
walk a little slower; the ghosts will wait.”
“Yes; this blanket of mine is getting unwieldy.”
“Let’s take our coats off,” suggested Dick. “We’re not likely to meet
any one between here and the tea-house at this time of night.”
They followed his suggestion, and walked along in silence for awhile,
with their hats in their hands and their jackets across their arms. Then
Pierce Ellison said:
“Too bad we didn’t come in your tea-pot, Hadley.”
“Too much noise,” replied John. “I don’t know what all of your opinions
are about this mystery, but it’s mine that it’s a human agency. Have any
of you fellows anything in the back of your heads that you haven’t
spoken of—for fear of alarming the girls, or any other reason? It might
give us a clue, you know. Something to work on.”
“Not a glimmer,” answered someone.
“I agree with Hadley,” said Jack. “What was the cause of those three
deaths in close succession in the Scott family? Pure coincidence. Then
there’s the stories of the horse and the stray dog. They may be
coincidence, too; yet, I confess it seems funny that they happened as
they did. But this business of Anna is different. I, for one, believe
that something actually happened to the girl; but I can’t guess what.
She’s too muddled herself to know much about it.”
“So do I,” agreed John. “I believe her; I had a talk with Anna. Her eyes
looked right when she told me about it. And she showed me great black
and blue marks on her arms, that could only have been made by strong
hands—human hands! I believe her.”
“Yes; but Marjorie has an idea that she was galavanting around
somewheres.”
“I don’t think,” said John, “that it is so much that Marjorie believes
that herself as it is that she wants the others to believe it.
Marjorie’s one thought is to remove suspicion from the tea-house.”
Jack, who was walking next to John, glanced hastily at him, surprised at
this insight into the mind of his sister.
“I hadn’t thought of that,” he admitted. “Well, we’re here, fellows.
Let’s get into the house as quietly and as quickly as possible. I’ll go
first with the key.”
They paused in the road and looked over the hedge.
The tea-house lay silent in the moonlight, which emphasized the roof and
chimneys and was reflected in the upper windows, but left the lower part
in shadow.
They passed swiftly into the house, and without making a light, entered
the rest-room and tossed their blankets into a corner. Their footsteps
and subdued voices sounded strangely in the closed house. John turned on
his pocket flash and examined the rooms downstairs. Apparently
everything remained as the girls had left it. He tried all the windows
and doors, and found them locked; then returned to the others.
“While you fellows make yourselves comfortable, I’ll step outside and
take a look around,” he said. “If you hear me poking around, don’t take
me for a ghost.”
Outside, he found the atmosphere hot and oppressive. He walked leisurely
beneath the trees, looking about him. Around at the back, everything
seemed right enough; the stable was a deep black shadow, barely
distinguishable beneath the low-hanging branches of intervening trees.
John strolled around to the rose arbor, where the air was heavy with an
odor of sweetness from the blooms, and stood for a minute considering
whether it would be advisable for him to sit there while he smoked a
cigarette. The others would miss him, and would probably come searching
for him. He decided against it, turned, and went in.
The boys had spread several of the army blankets upon the floor, and
were lying flat on their backs side by side, telling each other the most
harrowing tales they had ever read or heard of. This Jack discovered
when he almost fell over them; for in the darkness he could not see the
prostrate forms. They were so absorbed in a weird story Eugene Schofield
was telling that they failed to take notice of his return, except to
make room for him as he felt his way among them and stretched himself
upon the blankets. John smiled to himself as he listened to the hushed,
tense voice of the narrator, and realized that, boylike, they were
working themselves up to a fine pitch of excitement for spending the
night in such a place.
“That was a corker!” commented one, as Eugene finished his story amid
murmurs of approval from the other boys. “Did they ever find out what
became of him?”
“Say, fellows,” interrupted Jack, “it’s as close as the deuce in here.
Let’s have some air.”
The boy nearest the windows opened them. Then someone else commenced
another story. John listened for awhile, watching the glow of Jack’s
cigarette, until a feeling of drowsiness, which he was unable to cast
off, came over him, and he slept.
He dreamed that he was pursued. He knew that he was dreaming, for he
could still hear the murmur of the boys’ voices, very far off. He could
not have explained what it was that was after him; it was formless,
indescribable. And yet it seemed to have form, too, or at least bulk;
and as he fled it seemed to roll after him with an overwhelming
presence. He could feel himself escaping, as if into a narrow cavern
which became smaller and smaller, while he too diminished in size; yet
all the while the presence was after him, and he could feel, rather than
see, a mass like a great ball, which appeared to grow larger and more
overpowering as it approached. As it was attempting to cram itself into
the entrance of the cavern, oppressing him horribly, he woke up.
He knew that a door had blown shut, and that the noise had wakened him.
A strong wind which smelt of rain was blowing in through the open
windows, and it chilled him. He got up and closed the windows, and going
over to the fire-place, tossed in some chips and set a match to them
thinking it would be more cheerful to have even a tiny fire. As the
chips caught, the dim light showed the boys lying in the middle of the
floor, several of them asleep, and the rest still listening to ghost
stories. John lay down again and watched the grotesque shadows, cast by
the fire, flickering about on the ceiling. But the effect upon him was
like hypnotism, and he could feel himself again sinking into slumber,
when a faint noise outside brought him suddenly to his feet, wide awake.
He stood there, alert and listening. The others seemed not to have
noticed anything, except his sudden rising, and looked up at him
inquiringly. John merely placed a finger to his lips, and listened. He
could now hear distinctly the steps of someone approaching up the
driveway. They were coming toward the house. Who could it be, he
wondered. Not one of the girls, at this time of the night? No, it was a
man’s firm tread. An officer, who had noticed their light from the road,
and was coming to investigate? What a fool he was to have made a light!
These thoughts flashed through his mind with lightning rapidity.
“Don’t move!” he commanded. “Someone is coming!”
They waited, rigid with expectancy.
The heavy tread sounded upon the porch; there was an instant’s pause,
and then came a knocking at the screen door.
John strode across the room, shot back the heavy bolt, and opened the
door.
“I saw your light,” said a rough voice, apologetically.
“Well, what do you want?” demanded John, sharply; for he noticed that
the man was trying to look past him, into the room beyond.
“I want to know whether Bill Smith lives here,” said the rough voice, a
little louder than before.
“No,” answered John; “he doesn’t.”
“He don’t? Well, he lives around here somewheres, and I thought it was
here.”
In the dim light John could just make out, beneath a slouch hat, that
the man had a large nose and a heavy moustache. He also noted that his
breath smelled strongly of liquor.
“I’m very sorry. I don’t know anyone of that name,” repeated John—“as
common as the name is,” he added, as an afterthought.
He could see that the man was grinning as he turned away.
“All right!” he called out over his shoulder. “Sorry I troubled you
fellows!”
John watched the retreating figure pass out of the drive. When he
reached the road, the man paused for a moment, looked back towards the
house, then up and down the road, and finally walked away.
John stood at the open door for several minutes, waiting to see whether
the man would return. When he turned back into the room his brows were
drawn together and he was thinking hard.
“Now I wonder what he really wanted?” he asked.
“Wanted? You heard what he said, didn’t you?” said Bill Warner. “He
wanted Bill Smith.”
“Bah!” exploded Jack. “The first name on the tip of his tongue—Bill
Smith! He wanted to see what was going on in here, most likely.”
“I’m an ass not to have followed that fellow,” announced John. “Of
course, he might have wanted Bill Smith; but there was something about
the look of him that made me doubt it, even while he was standing
there.”
“What did he look like?”
“Oh, a stage villain. Big nose and moustache—and a funny grin. But I
couldn’t see much through the screen door.”
“A tramp?” suggested one.
John shook his head.
“Too well dressed—or ‘dressed up,’ if you know what I mean. More like a
rough-neck.”
“Then what the deuce could he want here, if not to find Bill Smith?”
persisted Bill Warner.
John only shrugged his shoulders, and thrusting his hands into his
trousers’ pockets, commenced pacing up and down the room. The rest sat
quite still, turning the occurrence over in their minds.
“Do you suppose he figured on robbing the place?” inquired Jack.
John stopped pacing to consider the suggestion.
“People can’t help but see that this tea-room is taking in money,”
continued Jack. “If this fellow knew about it, perhaps he thought the
girls might leave the money here overnight.”
“Maybe,” said John. “But I doubt it. If he came to burgle he would have
sneaked in, and seeing a light, would have gone away again. No, he came
up boldly enough.”
“Maybe he thought there were nothing but girls in here.”
“True,” admitted John. “It was my first thought that he might be the
human agency we are looking for.”
“But what would the motive be?”
“Search me! Well, there’s no use of our speculating about it; we’re not
getting anywhere. But just the same, I think I was a fool not to follow
the fellow,” concluded John; and he stretched out before the fire again.
The boys were quiet for some time, each occupied with his own thoughts.
Several had already dozed off when Jack finally got up and threw more
wood on the fire.
“He sure did have some breath on him,” said John.
Jack started and stared down at him.
“Heh? Are you talking in your sleep?”
“No,” laughed John. “I merely remarked that that tramp, or whatever you
want to call him, had some breath on him. It smelt so strong of alcohol,
I’ll bet if you held a lighted match under his chin, he’d breathe a blue
flame.”
“Aw, you go on!” growled Dick Roberts. “Say, aren’t you chaps ever going
to sleep? Why don’t you quit thinking about such things?”
“That’s pretty good advice,” yawned John. “I guess I will turn in.”
He rummaged in the corner for his own blanket, rolled up in it, and
prepared to sleep. Jack followed his example, lying down beside him.
Then Pierce Ellison and Eugene Schofield, the only ones who were still
sitting up, decided to join them.
“Why don’t you two fellows go upstairs and use the army cots,” suggested
John. “It’s silly to let them go to waste.”
“Never thought of it,” answered Pierce. “What do you say, Gene?”
“I don’t mind—if none of the others want them.”
“There’s no one left,” said John. “Go to it!”
“How about you, Jack?” offered Pierce.
“I wouldn’t move for the world,” replied that person. “Half of me is
asleep already.”
“All right then. Good night! Call us if you need any help.”
“No such luck! Good night!”
When John lay down he had every intention of going to sleep; but he
found that it was not so easy as he thought. He envied Jack, who was
already breathing regularly by his side. No doubt the nap he had earlier
in the evening took the edge from his fatigue; but he was also conscious
of an inward state of excitement which was far from conducive to sleep.
He smiled to himself as he analyzed his own feelings: he had always
regarded himself as a steady, common-place sort of creature, not a bit
excitable; in fact, at school he had had a reputation of being
particularly reliable, a cool hand in a tight place. When he had pitched
on his school nine, his team-mates learned that there was no danger of
his becoming rattled simply because there was three men on base at a
time when an additional run would lose the game for them; in such
situations John Hadley always pitched his best.
He knew that his present restlessness was not due to fear of anything,
either natural or supernatural, that might happen; he even longed for
action as a means of relieving the tension. He was surprised at the
number of strange sounds a house will make during the night; at every
creak and rattle he would prick up his ears. One noise in particular,
which seemed to come from upstairs, startled him; but he exerted his
will power, and refrained from investigating; for he could hear Eugene
Schofield clear his throat from time to time, and knew thereby that he
too was still awake.
“I am entirely too anxious for something to happen,” he told himself.
So he forced himself to think of other things, tried to relax as much as
possible, and to lie perfectly still. It was then that he realized how
much the other boys were tossing about, even though they slept.
Occasionally someone would murmur inarticulately.
“Too many ghost stories for you,” thought John. “Yet you sleep, while I
stay awake. Well, I guess I’m just as well satisfied at that. Why should
I care whether I go to sleep or not? If I stay awake, so much the better
if anything does happen; it’s what I’m here for, anyway. And this
certainly is better than having a nightmare.”
It was after he took this attitude that he finally dozed off. The next
thing he knew he was standing up, wide awake. He could not tell how long
he had slept, but it was evidently not long; for the coals in the
fire-place were still glowing, and giving off enough light for him to
distinguish the sleeping form of Jack. He could not remember the act of
getting up; yet he was standing upright when consciousness had come to
him. Was it a condition of over-wrought nerves, or had some unusual
sound aroused him?
Without the wind was blowing in sudden gusts, rattling the sashes in the
windows. At intervals a pale light shone through the panes for an
instant, and a few seconds after came the distant rumble of thunder.
“Just as I thought,” reflected John. “The storm’s coming this way—coming
fast!”
He was suddenly aware of a peculiar sound of something grinding and
straining, which terminated in a hollow thud. Instantly he became alert,
straining his ears for a repetition of the noise. It came again, in a
strange creaking, as if someone were trying to pry open a shutter. Then
he thought he could hear a step on the back porch. John was sure, this
time, that the moment for action had come. But he hesitated, thinking
quickly. The sound was at the back of the house.
He put his hand upon the revolver in his hip pocket. Should he awaken
the others, or go alone? He must act quickly. If he went prowling about
by himself, the others might hear him, and become alarmed; they might
even mistake him for an intruder, and fire at him.
While he stood there considering, the noise occurred again; there was a
movement at his feet, and he looked and saw Jack’s head raised in a
listening attitude. Then Jack turned to look at the place where John had
been lying, and beheld him standing over him, and he sat up quickly.
“I heard something!” he whispered.
John nodded his head.
“Let’s wake the others,” he said, stooping down and putting his mouth
close to Jack’s ear. “Then let’s you and me investigate. It’s around
back—sounds as if somebody’s trying to jimmy a shutter as quietly as
possible. We’ll go out the front and surprise them from the rear.”
“How shall we wake the others without making a noise?” asked Jack.
“Put your hand over their mouths and say ‘Sh!’ as soon as they move.”
Jack signified that he understood; and they tip-toed about the room
arousing their unconscious comrades, succeeding in doing so without
causing one surprised exclamation. Nevertheless, they were surprised,
but too dazed by the sudden awakening to understand anything.
“Don’t talk! Don’t move! unless we call,” ordered John, in a hoarse
whisper.
And without further explanation, he and Jack slipped quietly out the
front door. Each had a revolver in his hand. As they stepped out into
the driveway their feet crunched alarmingly upon the gravel. John caught
Jack’s arm and drew him beneath the lilac bushes at the corner of the
house. Then they commenced a stealthy advance towards the rear, keeping
as much as possible within the shadows. When they had circled about the
rear wing, John dropped on his hands and knees and peered cautiously
around the corner, commanding a view of the back door and part of the
tea-room. In the darkness he could not see anything; for the moon had
been obscured by a mass of heavy black clouds. He stepped back and
consulted with Jack in a whisper, and together they waited to see
whether the next flash of lightning would reveal anything to their
straining eyes. It came soon, a sharp jagged fork of light which seemed
to trickle across the sky, followed almost instantly by a peal of
thunder; for the storm was almost upon them. For a moment everything was
as bright as in daylight; then was immediately plunged into darkness.
But the flash had lasted long enough for them to see that no one was
about. As the thunder died away in the distance, the only sound they
could hear was the soft patter of the coming rain upon the leaves of the
trees.
“Let’s go out in the open,” said Jack. “Let’s take a hasty look around
and then beat it in again. We’ll soon be soaked if we don’t.”
They darted quickly here and there, examining dark corners of the lawn,
looking into bushes, and behind tree trunks. The rain was coming faster,
the lightning flashed incessantly, and the continuous roll of the
thunder made talk impossible.
“Here she comes!” cried John, as the rain descended in torrents. “Let
the stable go. Run for the back door!”
In another moment they were under cover.
“We’ll have to knock!” shouted Jack, raising his voice above the storm.
“Yes. But wait a minute; there’s one place we didn’t look.”
John fumbled for his flash and turned it on, pointing it out into the
rain. Jack could not see a yard through the downpour, but he was
suddenly aware that John was referring to the sloping door which covered
the steps leading from the cellar out into the yard at the rear of the
tea-room.
“Ye Gods!” cried Jack. “I never thought of it. And it’s never locked—the
bolt’s off!”
“But we mustn’t go in from the outside. It’s too much of a risk. We’ll
get the fellows to let us in; then we’ll go down from the inside. If
there’s anyone down there, they could never get away so fast that we
won’t get them.”
“Right!” agreed Jack.
They pounded on the door. Once inside the doorway, the excited boys
crowded around them.
“We were just thinking about going out to look for you two,” said Dick
Roberts. “What news?”
“None! The rain cut short our search.”
“Some rain!”
“A couple of you fellows watch that back cellar-door,” said John. “We’re
going to look down there.”
Leading the way, and followed by Jack and the others, he descended the
cellar-stairs from the hall, holding his flash-light before him. He felt
a chill run up and down his spine as he entered that gloomy place. But
an intruder, had there been one, would have been up against it, opposed
to these youths, each armed with flash-light and revolver.
They made a thorough search, and not discovering anything, went upstairs
again, where the two boys watching the back door reported that no one
had made an exit that way. John and Jack removed their wet outer
clothing, and wrapped up in blankets, while the others built up a hot
fire with which to dry them.
“We might as well all stay up now; it will be light pretty soon,”
remarked Dick. “And we could never sleep through this storm.”
“Four o’clock,” announced Bill Warner, after looking at his watch.
“What did you fellows hear?” asked Dick.
The two adventurers grinned rather sheepishly.
“Ghosts! I guess the place is haunted after all,” admitted Jack,
reluctantly.
“What gets me,” said John, “is this: what explanation are we to make to
the girls in the morning?”
“None!” cried Jack. “They’d have the laugh on us! Don’t tell them
anything. Tell ’em we never slept better in our lives!”