The Third Girl Detective

by Margaret Sutton

  “Why?” Janet asked.

  “The room is ha’nted,” replied the woman, leaving the room in the same stiff way, without another word.

  Janet’s rather sober face relaxed into a broad smile. This must be “Old P’lina!” Later Janet was to find out that the name was Paulina, Paulina Stout.

  But “ha’nted,” or not “ha’nted,” the room was fascinating. It was hers. No other room in the house could seem like that. What had Uncle Pieter said about her “having some rights in the home of her ancestors?” This should be one of them, then, to occupy her mother’s room.

  Supper was served in due time. The dining-room seemed large for the size of the present family, but Janet understood from what Mrs. Holt had told her that there was often considerable entertainment of guests. She wondered, for she could not imagine Uncle Pieter in the role of affable host. He appeared to be preoccupied and joined little in the conversation, which was largely between Cousin Diana and Cousin Andy. Once he asked Mrs. Holt when her mother would be back, and inquired about John’s coming. So Cousin Di had a mother who made her home there, too.

  Janet was wondering about many things, but she remembered Miss Hilliard’s caution, not to be in too much of a hurry to find out everything. “It will take you a little while to become adjusted to the new place and the new people, Janet,” she had said. “One learns about people slowly sometimes. Be patient.”

  Janet knew that it was not her nature to be patient. Perhaps no one is patient by nature. Patience is a grace to be cultivated. Janet’s consideration for others, nevertheless, kept her from blundering into questions or comments that were not proper. A sense of propriety was almost inherent with her and served her well in this experience among strangers.

  Uncle Pieter disappeared soon after the meal. Andrew, Diana and Janet visited for a little while, then Mrs. Holt accompanied Janet, by way of the corridors this time, to the door of her room. She peeped in at the glowing fire that burned behind a modern wire screen, put there for safety. “Better let the fire die down, after you toast your toes a little, Janet. Shall I look in a little later? Are you lonesome?”

  “Oh, no. I’ll go to bed pretty soon. I love that old four-poster!”

  “You would not like it if it had the old ropes that sagged. But there are some good modern springs and a fine mattress. Where your uncle has gotten all the money that he has spent on this place is a mystery to me. But I was delighted to be asked here. I had not seen the place since I visited your mother when we were girls. You will find some paper in your desk. That is the famous desk with the secret drawers, Janet.”

  “Really? I did not know if I might open it or not, though the key is there.”

  “Everything here is for you to use. Your uncle gave me directions to that effect. He said that you are to have your mother’s furniture.”

  “How good of him.”

  “Perhaps not. Why should you not have it?”

  Janet looked a little wonderingly at her cousin. Perhaps that was so. Unless Uncle Pieter had bought it or arranged to have it when the estate was divided, it would be hers.

  How good it was to sit quietly in the room, writing a few of the chief events to Miss Hilliard, while the fire began to die down and everything grew quiet. She did not mind a few April frogs that performed for her benefit somewhere in the neighborhood. The country was nice, and she was so sleepy. She could not quite finish the letter, but hurried to undress before the fire should go out, and climbed into the comfortable, soft bed, first spreading on the extra blanket. On finding it very chilly when she opened the window, she also spread wide the dainty blue and white comforter, letting the bottom edge of it hang over the foot of the bed instead of tucking it in. Even then it came up under her chin. In sweet contentment Janet said her prayers in her mother’s room and fell asleep.

  Later a thunderstorm, or series of storms came up. Janet roused enough to put down her windows, sufficiently to prevent the rain’s beating in. Then she went to sleep again.

  Suddenly Janet wakened. She could hear the rain pouring again. But there was a movement. Slowly the comforter began to slide from her. How strange! The cold chills began to play up and down Janet’s spine. Could there be a burglar? She lay still, her face in the pillow.

  Now more swiftly the cover was drawn off. It was gone. A flash of lightning, dimly lighting the room from under the shades and curtains of the window, disclosed a moving form at the foot of the bed. Janet, who had lifted her head to see, again pressed her face into the pillow. She listened for the opening of the door, but there was no sound from that direction.

  A faint noise somewhere, like the little click of a latch, perhaps—and Janet lay still for a long time, hearing nothing but the rain and the boom of distant thunder. Janet remembered that she had slid fast a small, curious brass bolt at the door when she went to bed. How could any one enter there? Possibly there was some other entrance, but she had not noticed any.

  It was some time before Janet dared to sit up in bed and finally to slip from under the covers and run to where the electric button was. Flash! On came the light and Janet was at the door, ready to run if there were any menacing presence in the room. The bolt was still in position, as she had left it when locking up!

  On the chair by the bed was her bath robe; beneath lay her slippers. These all she donned and went to the windows. They were still only a trifle raised, and now Janet threw them up as high as they would go. No one had entered there, though the curious little balcony, with vines beginning to leaf out, shone wet with the rain and the light from Janet’s room.

  There were two doors besides the one which led into the hall. Of these two, one opened into a closet, the other into a bathroom. Janet did not know whether that had been there in the old days or not but she fancied that it might have dated back to her mother’s time. After her uncle’s brief talk at supper about the old Dutch homes and habits and the early days of New York history, Janet was beginning to feel as if she were a part of a long line, indeed, and her curiosity was aroused about all these little details.

  She opened the closet door. There hung her dresses. Her hats were upon the shelf. She reached back to the wall. No door there. The bathroom, blue and white and prettily tiled, offered no solution to the mysterious visitor who had carried off the comforter.

  “No ghost,” said Janet to herself, “could carry off a thick blue comforter!” But it was funny—queer. Had the comforter been anywhere in the room, she might have thought it a dream. Yet she certainly did not dream those cold chills, or that odd feeling when slowly the cover was drawn off. But at least the intruder, ghost or not, had not harmed her in any way.

  Little birds began to sing outside and a gray dawn was breaking. Janet crept back into bed, refreshed by the air from the wide open windows. At once she fell asleep, not to waken till Paulina rapped loudly on her door to waken her in time for breakfast.

  CHAPTER VI

  A NEW COUSIN

  The April morning was fresh and clear. Janet found her Cousin Andrew waiting for the rest and reading quietly in the large living room. “Good morning, Janet,” said he. “Did you sleep well in your new quarters?”

  “I haven’t quite grown accustomed to them yet,” replied Janet, who had decided not to mention her fright of the night before, “but I thought that I would never waken this morning. Some one had to call me twice.”

  “The storm was disturbing,” replied Andrew. “You can see what a wreck I am, Janet. It is a good thing that Jan is coming to brighten life here for you. He wrote to me and asked me to ‘beg off on school’ for him, to my father.”

  Janet looked into her cousin’s amused eyes, but she was thinking of what he said about his being a ‘wreck’. “You were in the war, weren’t you, Cousin Andy?”

  “Yes—shell-shocked, shot up in a few places that seem to do as much damage as possible. But at that I’m better off than thousands o
f the boys, forgotten in the hospitals now.” Andrew’s voice was a little bitter. “Don’t ask me to tell you about it, child. It’s better for me to do the forgetting. I’m thirty years old, and I’m older than my father.”

  “You don’t look it,” smiled Janet engagingly. “I think that you are very nice.”

  The little remark pleased Andrew. “Well, you are a nice little pal, then. We’ll be friends.”

  “Yes indeed. Did you know my mother?”

  “Yes, Janet, but not very well.” Andrew looked sober. “She was a beautiful and charming girl, but she did not care for my father. He was so much older, for one thing, and I fancy that she thought him dictatorial. We did not live here when she grew up. My father married and lived in Albany, where my brothers and sisters and I were born.”

  This again was news to Janet, who asked about these cousins. But only a sister with one daughter was living. They were abroad, but might come to the farm for the summer.

  “Where are the Van Meters buried?” asked Janet.

  “Why do you want to know that?” asked Andrew in his turn. “You want only bright things here.”

  “I just thought that I might take some flowers to my mother’s grave,” she replied. “That was all—just once, perhaps, to show that I am glad to know about her.”

  “Why, little cousin, we knew nothing about it and supposed that she is buried by your father. Father took over the place to relieve grandfather. Your mother’s things were all here, but she did not send for them and was coming to visit that summer after you were born. Then we heard that you all had been wiped out in an epidemic of some sort, like the ‘flu’ that we had during the war. It was past before we knew.”

  Janet, surprised, was about to tell her cousin about her father and the brief story that she knew, but Uncle Pieter had silently entered and was standing beside her, saying, “Come, no sad memories. Let us have some of Paulina’s griddle cakes.”

  Janet followed her uncle in silence, wondering at his jovial tone, for it was not in harmony with his usual style. He was just a little queer. No wonder that her mother did not like him very well. But he was being good to her. She must remember that. Griddle cakes, bacon and the sweet maple syrup were very good indeed. Janet noticed that as they all left the table Paulina handed Mrs. Holt a note, a folded scrap of paper, which she read with a frown. Paulina had gone back to the kitchen without a smile to relieve her rather dour, defensive expression.

  “Excuse me, Janet,” said Mrs. Holt. “Amuse yourself in any way you like for I have to see P’lina about something.”

  “I have plenty of fun ahead of me, Cousin Di. I’m going through that old desk of Mother’s to see if I can find a secret drawer or two.”

  “You will,” Mrs. Holt asserted.

  But that morning Janet found nothing particularly exciting. The “secret” drawers were too easily found, she thought. There were some papers, however, though none of any importance. A package of letters from her father to her mother she hesitated to read and saved it as possible at a future time. She read a little in some of her mother’s books and then started outdoors in her hiking costume, for she wanted to see the farm.

  All that day she amused herself with investigations on a small scale, within and without. The library was a pleasant place, and when she was sure that Uncle Pieter and Cousin Andrew were not there, she curled up to read Uncle Pieter’s books. There were copies of Little Men and Little Women which she took down to read for the third or fourth time in her short life. Perhaps they had belonged to Uncle Pieter’s daughter. She replaced them till the next day, when just before supper she heard sounds of greetings in the hall.

  “H’lo, Mom! It’s great to get home again!” Janet heard as she started toward the living room, where they were all supposed to meet before going to meals.

  “How’s the bum back, Uncle Andy?” continued the boyish voice. “How do you do, Uncle Pieter?” Jan, like Janet, called Mr. Van Meter by that familiar expression.

  The murmur of voices grew to distinct speech as Janet drew nearer and she saw a friendly looking boy considerably taller than herself standing in the doorway to talk to the rest of the family who had apparently just entered. “Here’s another,” he cried, glancing around and seeing Janet. He drew back and ushered her inside as, presumably, he had ushered the rest. “I know that this must be my cousin Janet, so let’s shake hands.”

  At another time Janet would not have found her cousin Jan so occupying the center of the picture and doing so much talking. But he seemed to be a little excited over his arrival and reception. Paulina passed through, having brought something to the table in the room. Janet saw her looking at Jan with a glance and expression as enigmatic as the Mona Lisa smile. “What is the matter with P’lina?” asked shrewd Cousin Andy, but no one replied.

  During the meal Janet gained a good deal of information about Jan and his doings from the conversation. Mr. Pieter Van Meter questioned the lad about his school, but not as one who had any responsibility about the matter. Obviously, Cousin Diana and her son were in the family circle because of her services and the atmosphere of home which her pleasant personality created. She was a charming hostess, as Janet found later when company came to the old place.

  “I did not see a car drive in when you came,” said Janet to Jan when they settled down for a visit together in the library.

  “No, I came over from another place where a friend of mine lives. I came on one of their horses, and I dressed first before I appeared to the family.”

  “Is it so that you have a workshop and everything, back where I room?”

  “Are you rooming in the old part, then? Why, yes, I have a room there, too, and they let me use part of the attic sometimes, a sort of den there. I do radio stuff and I like everything about electricity. Uncle Pieter did not think much of it at first; but when I fixed the electric bells and got things all right when fuses burned out, and a few other things, he changed his mind about it. I’m really scarcely related at all. Isn’t he a queer old—fellow? I was going to use some slang, but I’d better keep that for school.”

  Janet favored Jan with an understanding glance. “It’s very ‘expressive,’ I’ve heard Miss Hilliard say, but she corrects us when we use it. Do you want me to call you John or Jan?”

  The boy hesitated. “I used to despise that old Dutch name,” he said, “but if you are Jannet, I’ll be Jan while I’m here. I’m trying to get permission to stay on instead of going back to school. Uncle Pieter doesn’t interfere, only about that, but if I can help about the place a little it will be more fun, and you and I could ride everywhere. Wouldn’t you like that?”

  “I should think I would!”

  “Well, all I ask is that you get Uncle Pieter to liking you a whole lot. I believe he does.”

  “He couldn’t. He only knows me a very little, you see.”

  “Do you think that a person would have to know you a long while first? I always know whom I’m going to like. They are short of help, the farmer at the tenant house told me, so I’m going to risk it, and ask Uncle Pieter if I can’t turn farmer. There are a lot of things to be done, about the trees in the orchard and the stock, for instance, that a boy can do.”

  “You like farming as well as electricity, then.”

  “Some of it.”

  Jan was not fair like Jannet, for he had the dark hair and gray eyes of his mother in a face more “square,” as Jannet thought of it. They were to be Jan and Jannet, then. That would be fun. Jannet next asked if there were other boys and girls in the neighborhood and was told of Jan’s friends on the neighboring farm, a girl and two boys.

  “How old are you, Jannet?” Jan asked frankly.

  “Fourteen.”

  “Well, that is how old Nell Clyde is. I’m fifteen and Chick is almost sixteen. He’s my friend. Then there’s Tom. He’s pretty nearly seventeen, I guess. He’s a year older
than Chick anyway.”

  This was fine. Jannet, who knew almost no boys at all, was laughing at the very ordinary nickname. How funny boys were. “What is Chick’s right name?” she asked.

  “John. That is one reason why it doesn’t do at all for us to go by our right names. I’m sometimes one thing and sometimes another at school. Chick calls me ‘Hunks,’ for ‘hunks of cheese’.”

  “That is funny,” said Jannet. “But tell me, Jan, old P’lina says that my room is haunted, and your mother said that you said so, too, though I imagined that you said it in fun.”

  Jan looked at Jannet with a great assumption of seriousness. “Old P’lina is always right, Jannet. This is a ‘haunted house,’ as the natives say. We even have a sort of Dutch Banshee that howls around sometimes.”

  “Tell me some more. Do the ghosts walk at night, especially when there is a storm?”

  Jan looked curiously at Jannet. “That sounds as if you heard something,” said he. “Yes, somebody comes down some invisible stairs; you can hear slow footsteps, you know. Maybe something drops, but there is nobody there!” Jan made big eyes at Jannet, who grinned delightedly.

  “Or you hear low singing, or distant violin music.”

  “That would be your radio.”

  “Old P’lina says not. She’s been here ages and sometimes I think that she is a little queer in the upper story, but she is good to me at that.”

  “I don’t think that she likes me,” said Jannet. “But what else does the ghost do, and who is the ghost anyway?”

  “Ask P’lina. You’d better say ‘ghosts.’ For all I know, there are more than one.”

  “Sakes! And I’ve got the haunted room, too!”