“The flood control system will take care of everything. At least that’s what the authorities would like us to think. Dad says he doesn’t place much faith in it himself—not if it’s ever put to a severe test.”
Before we had gotten far, a few drops of rain splattered down. Anticipating a deluge, we ran for the dilapidated summer house which stood at the edge of the grounds of Roseacres, within sight of the wishing well. Completely winded, I sank down on a dusty wooden bench to catch my breath.
“The clouds are rolling eastward,” Florence remarked, scanning the sky. “It may not rain much after all.”
“Flo! Look.”
A dark figure was bending over the yawning hole in the center of the old wishing well.
“What is it?”
“Look over there,” I said, pointing toward the old wishing well. “Mrs. Covington is doing something at the well. Is she trying to repair it or what?”
“She’s examining the inside. If she’s not careful, she may fall. We ought to warn her—”
“Warn her that she might fall in? I believe Mrs. Covington knows what she is about, Flo. Let’s just watch.”
We were so far away that it was not possible to see exactly what the old lady was doing. So far as I could tell she was tapping the inside stones of the well with a hammer.
“I think she’s trying to discover if any of them are loose,” I told Flo. “I’m surer of it than ever after seeing this. Something of great value is hidden in or near the wishing well, and Mrs. Covington has come back to Greenville to search for it.”
“What could be hidden in an old well?”
“I haven’t any idea.”
“If there’s something hidden in or around the well, why doesn’t she have a workman make a thorough search?”
“Probably because she doesn’t want folks to suspect what she is about, Flo. That would explain why she works at night and on very dark, gloomy days such as today. She doesn’t wish to be seen.”
“Mrs. Covington searches in such obvious places,” Florence said after a moment. “If anything really is hidden it might be deep down in the well. She never will find it in that case.”
“We might help her,” I suggested.
“You know she would resent our interference.”
“She probably would if we tell her what we intend to do.”
“Just what scheme are you hatching now?”
“You gave me the idea yourself,” I said. “The logical place to search is deep down inside the well. I’m sure the water can’t be more than a few feet deep.”
“So you want me to dive in and drown myself? Thank you, but I prefer to restrict my aquatic exercises to the swimming pool.”
“We have an old rope ladder in our basement.”
“Oh, you do, do you?”
“It has two iron hooks to claw into the wood of window ledges. Those same hooks will fit very nicely over the side of the wishing well. I’ve been waiting for a chance to use that ladder, and here it is.”
“You actually have the courage to climb down into a well?”
“Why not? But it must be tonight while my enthusiasm is bubbling. Jack’s occupied again with his bowling club, so I’m officially at loose ends. Meet me at nine o’clock and bring a good flashlight.”
Florence stared at me. “You’re actually serious?”
“Indeed I am. Now let’s slip away from here before Mrs. Covington sees us.”
Chapter Fourteen
The night, dark and misty, was entirely suitable for the purpose to which we dedicated it. Dinner over, I obtained the rope ladder from a trunk in the basement. I compressed it into a carpet bag and sauntered through the living room.
“Going on a journey?” my father inquired, noting the bag in my hand.
“Over to Florence’s house,” I told him. “From that point on there’s no guarantee.”
“You’ll be home early?”
“I hope so. If for any reason I fail to appear, don’t search in any of the obvious places.”
Leaving my father to ponder this remark, I hastily quitted the house. The Moresby tower clock chimed nine as I neared the Radcliffs. I parked in the next street and walked to Flo’s house where I stood under the shadow of a tree and did a very poor imitation of an owl. I had to hoot seven times before Flo joined me in the yard.
“I had trouble getting away,” Florence reported. “Mother asked all sorts of questions, and as a last resort, I was forced to lie a little.”
“And what was the nature of this untruth?”
“I told her I had a date.”
“With a man?”
“Yes.”
“Oh? And who was this mystery man? Surely your mother questioned you on his identity.”
“I’d rather not say.”
“Don’t be coy,” I insisted. “If your mother has even an inkling that you were lying she’s sure to cross-examine me the first chance she gets.”
“I told Mother I had a date with Martin Murphy.”
“Who in tarnation is Martin Murphy? Wouldn’t it have been better to select a real man who might at least be convinced to provide you with an alibi, should one become necessary?”
“I did select a real man,” Flo insisted. “You know Martin. He’s a friend of yours.”
“I do?” I surveyed my brain for any Martin of my acquaintance. “Oh! You mean Shep!”
“He prefers Martin,” Flo said stiffly.
“Does he now? I wasn’t aware of his preference,” I said. “Still, shouldn’t you have chosen a date who wasn’t occupied with a bowling competition this evening.”
“What bowling competition?”
“Jack says there’s a big competition this evening. According to him, Shep is their star bowler.”
“Martin doesn’t bowl,” Flo insisted. “How can he be anyone’s star bowler?”
“You must be mistaken. Jack waxed very eloquent on how essential Shep was to their bowling team’s success. Shep was standing by during this effusive praise and seemed rather embarrassed to be on the receiving end of such adulation. I thought it was very unlike him. Generally, Shep fairly laps up flattery.”
Flo turned suddenly silent and somber, but I couldn’t work out why.
“Are you and Shep stepping out behind my back?” I asked. “Not that I wouldn’t be over the moon about it, but you should have told me.”
“We go to see a picture together from time to time,” Flo admitted flatly.
“Congratulations, Old Girl!”
I slapped Florence between the shoulder blades, and she pitched forward from the force but remained uncharacteristically silent in the face of my manhandling.
“Shall we get going, then?” Flo said soberly.
“Did you bring the flashlight?”
“Yes, here it is. My, but it’s a dark night.”
“All the better for our purposes,” I said.
A single light burned in the kitchen window of Roseacres as we approached. The garden was shrouded in damp, wispy mist and the unkempt grounds had never appeared more desolate.
“Must we go through with this?” Florence was rapidly losing enthusiasm for the venture.
“I’ll admit the idea doesn’t look quite as attractive as it did this afternoon. All the same, I’m determined to go through with my plans.”
“What can you hope to find down in that well?”
I did not answer. I noiselessly crossed the yard ahead of Flo. When I reached the old wishing well, I flashed my light into the circular interior. It was dark and dank and likely full of frogs, but not of the princely variety. Besides, I already had one too many good men desirous of feeding out of the same nosebag for life with me—or at least that’s what I’d thought until recently. Lately I’d seen so little of Jack, I was starting to wonder if my fatal fascination might be on the wane.
As I looked down into the well, I’d have rather died than admit it to Flo, but my courage very nearly failed me.
“Better be carefu
l with that light,” Florence warned. “That is, unless you want Mrs. Covington to come out and catch us.”
I switched off the flashlight and thereafter worked in darkness. I took the rope ladder from the old carpet bag and fastened the two iron hooks over the stone ledge. Next I lowered the ladder into the well, listening until I heard a faint splash in the water below.
“Now you stay here and keep watch,” I told Flo. “I’ll be down and back again before you know it.”
“What if the ladder breaks?” Florence said pessimistically, seating herself on the stone ledge of the well. “Rope deteriorates with age, and who knows how long that ladder’s been stored in your damp basement.”
“It’s safe enough—I hope.”
“In case you slip and fall, just what am I to do?”
“That’s your problem. Use your ingenuity,” I said. “Now hand me the flashlight. I’m on my way down.”
By daylight, a descent into the well had seemed to me an amusing stunt; but now as I cautiously descended into the damp, circular pit, I was forced to admit that for once in my life I might have let my spirit of adventure get too much of an upper hand on my common sense.
“What do you see?” Florence called softly from above. “Anything?”
I clung with one hand to the swaying ladder, while with the other I directed the flashlight beam about the circular walls. The sides were cracked in many places and covered with slimy green moss.
“What do you see?” Florence called again. “Are any of the bricks loose?”
“Not that I can see.” My voice echoed weirdly. Intrigued by the sound I tried an experimental yodel. “It sounds just like a cave scene on the radio down here.”
“In case you’ve forgotten, you’re in a well,” Florence said severely. “Furthermore, if you don’t work fast, Mrs. Covington will come out here and give us the tongue-lashing of a lifetime.”
I descended deeper into the well and resumed my examination of the walls. There were no loose bricks, nothing to indicate that anything ever had been hidden in the cavern. Reaching the last rung without realizing it, I stepped, not into space, but water, then my foot struck a solid foundation.
I hastily pulled myself back onto the ladder and shouted up to Florence. “Flo, the water isn’t more than a foot and a half deep. There’s an old boot or something of the sort floating around. You won’t catch me drinking any more of this water.”
There was no reply from above.
“Florence!” I called out, flashing my light upward.
“Quiet!” Flo hissed. “I think someone is coming.”
“Mrs. Covington?”
“No. Two men. They’re turning in at the gate.”
I began to climb the rope ladder as quickly as I could.
“You never can get out in time without them seeing you,” Florence hissed down again. “I’m ducking out.”
“Don’t you dare!”
“They’ll see me if I don’t. Stay where you are, Jane, and I’ll come back after they go. What about the ladder? It’s sure to give you away.”
I lowered myself into the well several rungs and stepped off into the water. To my relief, it came just below my knees.
“Quick! Pull up the ladder!”
“No time!” said Flo.
Florence removed the iron hooks from the stone ledge and let the ladder drop into the well. I barely was able to catch it and prevent a loud splash.
All was silence. I switched off my flashlight and huddled against the slimy wall, listening intently and hoping that Flo had been able to conceal herself.
“This is the place all right,” I heard a masculine voice say from the mouth of the well. “Wonder if the old lady is at home?”
“There’s a light showing.”
The voices faded away, but after several minutes I again heard voices.
“The old lady must be inside the house. Funny she wouldn’t come to the door. They say she’s an odd one, though.”
The two men were directly above me at the mouth of the well.
“Want a drink?” I heard one ask.
The accents of the voices were unusual and seemed faintly familiar to me. It dawned on me that the two men must be the Texans, Mr. Coaten and his friend. However, I could think of no reason why they should call upon Mrs. Covington.
I didn’t have much time to muse upon this unusual turn of events because just as I’d placed the voices, a bucket splashed into the water beside me.
I groped for the old boot which floated nearby and dropped it into the bucket. The bucket was pulled up, and a moment later I heard an exclamation of wrath from above.
“See what I’ve drawn up. These old wells must be filled with filth!”
I had hoped that the strangers would immediately depart, but instead they loitered by the well, talking.
“We’ve been wasting entirely too much time on this,” said the man whom I took to be Mr. Coaten. “Suppose we were to offer Ted a hundred dollars to sign the paper. Would he do it?”
“I think he might, but the girl is the one who’ll make trouble. She’s shrewd.”
“We’ll get around her somehow,” the other said. “This thing can’t drag on forever. I have work waiting for me in Texas.”
The voices gradually died away, and I heard no more. However, from the snatch of conversation, I was convinced that Abigail’s suspicions regarding the Texas strangers had been well founded. But what had brought the two men to Greenville? If Abigail or Ted owned property, I could have understood why it would be desirable to adopt them, but as it was, nothing about the situation made any sense.
To keep from freezing, I gingerly waded around and around in the well. It seemed ages before Florence thrust her head over the ledge and called softly:
“Are you still there, Jane?”
“Right where you left me,” I said through chattering teeth. “I’m frozen into one big icicle! Get me out of here.”
Flo lowered the bucket, and I tied the rope ladder to the handle with numb fingers. Florence hauled it up, and again hooked the irons to the ledge of the well.
Stiffly, I climbed toward the surface. I had nearly reached the top when the beam of light chanced to play across a section of brick which hitherto had escaped my notice. I halted and traced the rectangular pattern on the wall with my fingers. It was not an ordinary crack.
“Are you coming?” Florence called down impatiently.
“I am,” I said as I emerged from the well. “And don’t you dare say that this night has been a failure. I’ve just made a most astounding discovery!”
Chapter Fifteen
My startling appearance, rather than my words, seemed to make the deepest impression upon Florence. My shoes and stockings were wet, my coat and dress were smeared with green slime, and strings of moss clung to my hair.
“You look like Father Neptune emerging from the briny deep,” Flo uncharitably pointed out.
“I’m freezing to death.” I tried to stop my teeth from chattering but failed miserably. “Come on, we’re going home.”
Florence hauled up the rope ladder from the well. She squeezed out what water she could and stuffed the unwieldy thing back into the carpet bag.
“What were you saying about a discovery?”
“Oh, nothing of consequence,” I said as I rubbed my hands together in a futile attempt to restore circulation. “Merely an opening in the side of the well. It probably leads into a tunnel. Nothing you’d be interested in, I’m sure.”
“Jane! Are you certain?”
“I’m not certain of anything except that I’m going home!” I started squelching across the lawn with Florence hurrying after.
“I’m terribly sorry,” Florence said. “I know you had an awful time down in the well, but it wasn’t my fault those two men arrived just when they did.”
“Did you get a look at their faces? From their voices, I took them to be Mr. Coaten and his friend.”
“That’s who they were. I’m sure of it
, but I can’t imagine why they came to see Mrs. Covington. At any rate, they didn’t get into the house. I’m sure that Mr. Covington was home; a light was on, and I saw a curtain move, but she refused to answer the door.”
“I heard those men talking while I was down in the well. I’m more certain than ever that they’re as crooked as a dog’s hind leg. They want Ted and Abigail to sign something over to them.”
“But Abigail said she and her brother have no property.”
“I know. I can’t make head nor tail of it. I’m too miserable to think about anything now.”
I paused beside a tree, removed one of my shoes and poured a little water from it. I put that shoe back on and repeated the procedure with the other shoe.
“To tell you the truth, Flo, I’m not sure whether I found anything or not.”
“But you said—”
“I know. Just as I reached the top of the well, I noticed a section of brick wall which seemed to be cracked in the exact shape of a rectangle.”
“Was that all?”
“I didn’t even take time to examine it. I was so chilled that all I could think about was getting out of there. However, I suspect that if I removed those loose bricks, there could be an opening behind them.”
“A secret hiding place?”
“Possibly, but it would be quite a large opening. I think it’s more likely that the loose bricks conceal the opening to a tunnel.”
“Can we remove the bricks without hiring a workman?”
“If they are as loose as I think they are, I might be able to get them out myself. Not tonight, however.”
I felt in no mood to discuss future possibilities or even to consider them. Already cold, the misty air made me feel as if a princely frog were breathing lovingly down my neck.
“Better get straight home, have a hot bath and go to bed,” Florence advised as we climbed aboard Bouncing Betsy. “We’ll talk things over in the morning.”
I entered my house through the kitchen door, hoping to avoid seeing Mrs. Timms—or more to the point, avoid Mrs. Timms seeing me. Luck was not with me. Mrs. Timms, who chanced to be in the kitchen making herself a soothing cup of chamomile to combat a recent spate of insomnia, saw me in all my bedraggled glory.
Jane Carter Historical Cozies: Omnibus Edition (Six Mystery Novels) Page 80
