CHAPTER IX
Horace Cooperates
Judy really meant to call Peter again. But when his sister Honeytelephoned and suggested a late movie she couldn’t resist thetemptation to go with her. The picture was all about a man with acriminal record. It made Judy think of Dick Hartwell. Honey said shehad liked him, too.
“My trouble is, I like everybody,” she confessed. “Besides, I have alittle theory of my own that people have to make mistakes in order todo better. I know I did.”
“I believe in that, too,” declared Judy, “and so does Peter. He doesn’tthink a single conviction should brand a man as a criminal. I certainlyhad a better opinion of Dick Hartwell than I do of Roger Banning. Heand that Cubby, as he calls him, are up to no good. As for that otherman, there was something evil about him. Lois and Lorraine weren’t theonly ones who were frightened. I do mean to go back there andinvestigate in spite of his warning. Horace will dig up something. Iwish you could go with us tomorrow, Honey. You couldn’t ask for the dayoff, could you?”
“I’m afraid I couldn’t,” Peter’s sister replied. “Mr. Dean has justbought a new air-brush machine, and tomorrow is the day I learn how touse it. I wouldn’t miss that even for a wish in your enchantedfountain, Judy. The art work I’m doing is the fulfillment of my dearestwish, anyway. But have fun!”
“I will,” Judy promised, wondering if she would.
The next morning when Judy told Horace what Honey had said about thenew air-brush machine, he was not pleased at all. Muttering that youngForrest Dean was more interested in the artists his father employedthan in the work he was supposed to be doing, Horace made an attack onhis breakfast that sent a fried egg skimming through the air like aflying saucer.
“Ha! Ha! Ha!” screeched his parrot from his cage near the kitchenwindow.
Fortunately for the doctor’s peace of mind, the parrot went to sleepearly, but he also awoke at the crack of dawn. This morning he wasespecially noisy.
“At least,” Judy laughed, as Horace mopped up the egg, “he isn’tcalling names the way he usually does.”
“No?” asked Horace.
The egg incident had started the parrot off. Now he was sidling fromone end of his perch to the other and screeching, “Cheat! Cheat! Cheat!”
This was by no means the only word in the parrot’s vocabulary, but itwas the one he most frequently used. It made Judy think of Lorraine’swish.
“She wished she could trust Arthur, and then she asked me if I couldtrust Peter if I believed he was a cheat. What do you think she meantby that?”
“Cheat! Cheat!” shrieked the parrot.
“There! You’ve started him off again. Quiet, Plato!” commanded Horace.
To Judy’s amazement, the bird kept still.
“So you’ve finally decided on a name for him?” she asked her brother.“But why Plato?”
“Why not?” Horace asked. “Most of his chattering is Greek to me. Honeysuggested the name. You know how I feel about her, Judy. But if she’sin love with her art work, where do I fit in?”
“I’m afraid, Horace, that she thinks of you as a brother,” Judy toldhim. “After all, she is my sister. I wished for her in the fountain,and my wish came true.”
“Actually,” Horace pointed out, “she is your sister-in-law, but itdoesn’t matter. I’ll be a great big cooperative brother to both of youif that’s the way she wants it. Art before love, as the saying goes. Bythe way,” he asked more curiously, “how does Honey operate thisair-brush machine?”
“She doesn’t know,” Judy replied. “That’s why she’s so eager to learn.She told me the kind of picture it paints. It gives a nice spatteredeffect like—like the spray from a fountain.”
Everything reminded her of fountains. Later, as they drove throughFarringdon and on toward the Brandt estate, they talked of little else.
“We’ll see what haunts your fountain, and then I’ll take you on home.This may not be much of a story, sis. I hope you won’t be disappointed.”
“I won’t be. I’m more interested in what’s bothering Lorraine.Something has made her really unhappy,” Judy declared. “You and I bothknow Arthur wouldn’t do anything dishonest. Why should Lorraine, who’ssupposed to be in love with him, even suggest that he might be a cheat?”
“Did she?” Horace looked almost too interested.
“I started to tell you at breakfast, but your parrot wouldn’t let me.Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned it. Lorraine acts as if the wholething ought to be kept secret, and I’m sure she has a reason. Horace—”
“Don’t worry,” he assured Judy. “I won’t let the cat out of the bag.”
Again Judy thought of Blackberry shut in the attic.
“Maybe we should drive over to my house—”
“Later,” Horace promised, turning in at the private road to the Brandtestate. “Newspapermen never pay any attention to NO TRESPASSING signs,”he told Judy as they drove past the notice and straight up to the doorof the house Judy was now seeing for the first time.
The top of the hill had looked like the end of the world. They had comedown upon the house immediately afterwards. It was nestled in thehollow beyond the hilltop and rambled off in all directions, anattractive combination of brick and native stone. There were three orfour tall chimneys. Judy didn’t count them because, just as she andHorace climbed out of the car, a black cat darted in front of them andthrough the open door. A grim, elderly man, who did not look at allpleased to see them, was holding it open. He had not waited for Horaceto ring the bell.
“_Herald_ reporter. May I have an interview?” Judy’s brother askedpromptly.
“With whom, may I ask?”
The man’s tone was icy, but Horace replied in his usual bland manner,“I was told by my editor to get a good story from someone ofimportance. I leave it to you, sir. Who is the most important personhere?”
The man, who was tall, white-haired, and rather an important-lookingperson himself, was about to reply when a woman’s voice from somewherewithin the house called, “Who is it, Stanley?”
“Reporters, madam,” replied Stanley, raising his voice as much asdignity would permit. “They want to interview a person of importance.Will you see them?”
“I will not.” The reply was short and to the point. “I told those twogentlemen who were here last night that we have nothing to hide. I willnot be bothered by any more people.”
Horace, who always had a quotation at the tip of his tongue, turned toJudy and said, “‘The lady doth protest too much, methinks.’”
“I beg your pardon?” Stanley said politely.
It came to Judy that he must be the butler. Had the Brandts left himthere to take care of things while they were away, or had these newpeople, whoever they were, hired him? Even the Farringdon-Petts didn’temploy a butler.
“This is the residence of Mr. and Mrs. Banning, isn’t it?” she asked.
“Brandt,” Stanley corrected her. “I’m afraid you have made a mistake—”
“I’m afraid _you_ have made a mistake,” Horace said, and his tone wasnot so bland as before. “The Brandts are in Florida. We were told theyhad leased the estate to the Bannings. Is Mr. George Banning here?”
“He is not, sir!”
“What about his son, Roger?”
“He isn’t here, either. Stanley, tell them to go away!” the voice fromupstairs called more shrilly. “Roger is out. He won’t be back untilafternoon.”
“We’ll wait, if you don’t mind. We’re in no hurry.”
Pushing himself past the startled Stanley, Horace pulled Judy alongwith him. “There’s news here,” he whispered, “and I don’t mean smallstuff. Unless my eyes deceive me, that’s a police car driving up theroad. We can watch from this window!”
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The Haunted Fountain Page 10
