The Girl Detective Megapack: 25 Classic Mystery Novels for Girls

by Mildred A. Wirt

  “But have you searched?” Arden demanded.

  They seemed confused at that straightforward question.

  “No,” one finally murmured.

  “Then come back to the house with me!” insisted Arden. “We girls will go with them, Mr. Callahan,” she promised. “We’ll have another good look all around. There is nothing in that house to harm anyone. And we don’t believe in ghosts, so the man must be found.”

  “If it comes to a question of ghosts, miss,” said a tall, lanky man, “I don’t believe in ’em myself. But when a man is snatched away, you might say, right from under your nose, why, that’s something different.”

  “Sure is,” his friends muttered.

  “Could it not very well be,” asked Sim, “that this Jim Danton might have gone to some other part of the house without telling any of you, and have been hurt there?—his hammer may have slipped and hit him on the head, knocking him unconscious. That could have happened.”

  “And he may be up in one of the old rooms now, injured, suffering,” added Terry.

  “This certainly is getting interesting, to say the least,” spoke Dorothy. “I must give you girls credit for getting up some good theatrical effects in this mystery. That’s quite a mob scene,” and she pointed a rather languid finger at the group of workers.

  “Don’t make fun, Dot,” said Terry in a low voice. “This may be serious.” Dot was inclined to be theatrical at the wrong time.

  “It is serious,” declared Sim.

  Arden still held the center of the stage. She felt the need of prompt, effective action.

  “Well, let’s go make another search,” she proposed. “And don’t waste time.”

  “We’ll do that with you,” said a young fellow. “But Jim didn’t go to any isolated room and hit himself on the head with his hammer. In the first place, he didn’t have any hammer. He was using a crowbar.”

  “That’s right,” came in a murmur, a proper mob-scene murmur, Dorothy thought, though she did not dare mention it.

  “And in the second place,” went on the same young fellow, “he was in that closet. I saw him go in.”

  “And nobody saw him come out, and there isn’t even a rat-hole in that closet yet,” declared another. “We haven’t started ripping there.”

  It looked as though the fear and mystery would start all over again. But Arden was not going to give up.

  “Let’s go have a look,” she proposed.

  “That’s the idea!” boomed Mr. Callahan. He was getting hopeful once more. “The girls’ll put you fellows to shame! Let’s all go in.”

  The Hall was quickly invaded with more persons than it had housed in many a long day. On the two lower floors no work of demolishing the place was visible. The men had first started tearing out the top or fourth floor. It was from the third floor that Jim Danton had disappeared.

  “I wonder how much longer Mrs. Howe is going to leave some of her possessions in here?” said Sim as they reëntered the big lower entrance.

  “She’ll have to be getting it all out pretty soon,” threatened the contractor, “or I’ll have to set it out for her. I don’t want to damage anything of hers and have her sue me, for she’s a determined woman, though, in ways, as nice as my own mother. But she sort of feels that she is being cheated. It’s none of my doing. She claims this place, and she told me she was going to leave stuff in here to enforce her claim. But it’ll have to be got out of here pretty quick now. The men’ll soon be down to the second floor. There’s hardly any of Mrs. Howe’s stuff on the third floor now. She took it away before I began my work this week.” He was saying this as they tramped into the echoing old hall.

  The party, scattering, though the girls kept together, looked all over the first floor. There was no sign of any missing man, though it took some little time to establish this fact, for there were many nooks, corners, passages, closets, and rooms in the lower part of the rambling old place.

  The second floor, where the “ghosts” had been said to appear, was likewise devoid of any missing person, man or otherwise. They looked, one after another, calling back and forth like scouts in the woods.

  “Well, he isn’t here,” Mr. Callahan finally announced.

  “No,” Arden was forced to agree, with a sense of disappointment. She had really hoped to find the man and so dispel the unreasoning fears about the place as well as to save Jim Danton.

  “Now, we’ll try once more to see how it could happen that Jim could possibly have vanished out of a closet that you say hasn’t even a rat-hole,” spoke the contractor, as they all went up to the third floor like some awkward brigade. Some of the rooms there were open to the weather, their outer walls having been torn away in uneven patches.

  “There’s where he went in but where he didn’t come out!” said the man who claimed to have heard the weird ghostly howling through the ash-chute.

  One by one the men, the girls, and the contractor looked and stepped inside the closet. As before, it seemed as solid as any such place always seems. There were rows of old hand-forged iron hooks on the two side walls and the back, but it appeared solid; unbroken in walls and, as had been said, there wasn’t even a rat-hole for escape.

  “A collector would give a good deal for those hooks,” said Dot. “They’re real antiques.”

  “We’re looking for a man, not antiques,” said Sim, under her breath.

  Mr. Callahan and some of the men stamped on the floor and kicked at the baseboards. Everything was solid. The door was the only visible means of egress.

  “And Jim didn’t come out of the door!” declared several of his companions, at which all of them shook their heads in positive agreement.

  “Well, it sure is queer,” the contractor had to admit when they had finished inspecting the third floor, including a big room next to the one containing the closet that seemed to be the starting point of the mystery. This room had an immense fireplace, and one of the men even stooped within it and peered up the chimney.

  “He isn’t up there,” he announced, scraping some soot and dirt down the uncovered ash-chute with his foot. “Jim isn’t there.”

  This was terrifying. Workmen might be familiar with accidents, but the girls could hardly stand such suspense.

  The entire third floor, at least the undemolished rooms, was thoroughly searched, with no result. The fourth floor and the roof over it were so nearly destroyed that it required but the briefest of inspections to make sure no missing man was there.

  Baffled, the party went down to the lower hall, Mr. Callahan becoming more serious and even showing alarm now that his workman could not be traced or located.

  “What do you think now, Arden?” asked Terry in a low voice.

  “I don’t know what to think, but he must be some place.”

  “There’s no use in our staying here any longer, is there?” asked Dorothy.

  “I can’t see what good we can do,” agreed Sim.

  The contractor was talking to his men off a little to one side. He was arguing against their desire to quit.

  “If you go,” he threatened, “you’ll lose the bonus I promised to everybody who’d work a week straight here and not be scared away by silly stories. Besides, we’ve got to keep on looking for Jim.”

  “A man vanishing isn’t a silly story,” snarled one man.

  Sim, Terry, and Dorothy were interested in the efforts of the contractor and realized that he was trying desperately to keep his force together. It was a sort of last stand with him, since so many of the more ignorant workers had left previously. Arden, hardly knowing why, wandered out and around to the rear of the old Hall. She was tired of the confusion but did not want to give up.

  “I wonder if I could think this out?” she reasoned. “There must be some answer.”

  In a sort of mental fog, Arden walked on a little farther into the field. She found herself in a tangle of weeds where once had been beds of flowers. There was one of the entrances to the great cellar under the old ma
nsion, just under a little back porch.

  Arden peered down the crumbling stone steps and looked past the sagging, rotting, open door into the blackness. A damp, musty smell floated up to her; perhaps the remains of the aroma that must have clung to the cellar since its days of full and plenty.

  As Arden stood there, she was surprised to see a little flickering light in the darkness of the cellar. Suddenly the light, which was bobbing about like a will-o’-the-wisp, came to a stop.

  “Somebody’s down there!” gasped Arden. “Oh—”

  A moment later she heard a scream. It was the high-pitched and frightened voice of a girl.

  Then, out of the black cellar, with horror showing on her face, came running—Betty Howe!

  “Oh! Oh!” she screamed. “It’s terrible! Down there—in the cellar—a dead man!”

  “A dead man!” repeated Arden, her mind now working fast. She wanted to be sure of her ground. “Are you sure, Betty?” she asked.

  “Yes! Oh, yes! I saw him—as plain as anything!”

  Betty rushed toward Arden, all but falling upon her, the flashlight still glowing. At the same moment Arden became aware of the approach of an old woman from around the corner of the house, at the rear.

  CHAPTER XIII

  Betty and the Books

  Arden Blake, for a moment, did not know which to attend to first, the strange old woman or the nervous and excited Betty Howe with her gasping declaration of a dead man in the cellar.

  Then, in a flash, Arden decided if there was a dead man there he must be the missing Jim. And if he were dead he would remain there. Also Arden knew Betty, but she did not know this strange woman who had so suddenly, and seemingly mysteriously, appeared on the scene.

  “Don’t be afraid, Betty!” Arden told the trembling girl. “We are here with you—the other girls are around in front, and so is the contractor and his men. But who is this—lady?”

  The strange woman was regarding Arden with malevolent eyes, and her mouth seemed to be muttering words. Betty, who, up to this moment, did not appear to have been aware of the other’s presence, now turned and looked. She showed no surprise.

  “Oh,” she said in a low voice to Arden, “that is Granny’s cousin, Viney Tucker. She lives with us. I guess Granny didn’t mention her before, because, well—she is a little—”

  Betty did not need to add the word “queer,” Arden could see that for herself. But there was nothing abnormal about Viney Tucker. She had once been a handsome woman, Arden reasoned, perhaps even more so than Granny Howe.

  “Cousin Viney helps Granny with the work, as she used to do when we all lived in the Hall,” Betty hurried to say. “But don’t bother about her. She goes and comes as and when she pleases. But the man in the cellar—the dead man. Oh, I was so frightened! What shall we do?”

  “This probably explains the whole mystery,” said Arden.

  “What mystery?”

  “About the missing workman, Jim Danton. Didn’t you hear all the excitement about him, Betty?”

  “No, I only just got here a few minutes ago. What do you mean about a missing man?”

  “First tell me,” suggested Arden, “what you were doing in the cellar.”

  “I was there looking for some old books that were stored down there when we moved out and over to the cottage. I happened to mention them to our librarian the other day, and he suggested that I bring some in for him to examine. He said there might be some valuable volumes among them. So I took a little time off from my work, and I came directly here—with a flashlight.” This was all said in breathless haste.

  “Yes,” said Arden, “I see you have a flashlight.”

  “It’s the only way to find things in the cellar—it’s so dark down there with all the lights off now. And if it hadn’t been for my light I wouldn’t have seen the dead man.” She actually leaned against Arden and was trembling still.

  “Let’s hope he isn’t dead,” suggested Arden. “Come! We must tell the others quickly.”

  Up to this time Viney Tucker had neither moved nor spoken since her arrival on the scene. She stood at the corner of the house and fairly glared at the girls. Now she exclaimed:

  “Ha! So there’s a dead man, is there? I knew murder would be done before they finished tearing down our house! I knew it!”

  “It isn’t murder, Cousin Viney,” said Betty.

  “Well, there will be murder before this business is finished,” sniffed the old woman. “And I don’t like murder being done in our old house.”

  “And it isn’t our house any more, Cousin Viney,” said Betty. “That’s just the trouble—we can’t prove it is ours.”

  “If we could only find the papers! If we could only find the papers!” muttered Viney Tucker as she hurried away in the direction of the cottage. Evidently the excited woman was suffering from the wrongs she, as well as her family, felt had been done them about the Hall.

  “Now we must hurry!” cried Arden. “This man you think is dead—I’m sure he’s the missing Jim, and he may not be dead at all; he must be looked after. If he’s injured, he’ll need a doctor. Come and tell the others all about it! They’re right out here.”

  “But I don’t know anything about him,” Betty objected as Arden fairly dragged her around to the front of the house.

  “You found him—that’s enough!”

  The conference between the contractor and his men was still on, but Sim and the others seemed on the point of leaving. They had just become aware of the fact that Arden was not in sight when she came into view with Betty.

  “We’ve found the missing man. Or, rather, Betty did when she went in the cellar after books!” cried Arden all in a breath. Quickly she introduced Betty to her chums.

  “You mean Jim?” shouted Mr. Callahan.

  “I think so,” Arden answered.

  “Come on, men!” cried the contractor leading a rush around to the side cellar door. “But it’ll be dark down there. We’ll need some lanterns. Get one, some of you.”

  “Take my flashlight,” offered Betty.

  Mr. Callahan did, fairly snatching it away but begging her pardon a moment later.

  “You can’t know how upset I am,” he explained. “So many things have happened today and other days. Poor Jim! How in the world did he get down in the cellar? Is he badly hurt, do you think?”

  “He seemed to be unconscious,” Betty answered. “But I didn’t give more than a look, and I thought he was dead, so I screamed and rushed out.”

  “And I met her as I was wandering around that way trying to think up some reason for all this,” Arden explained.

  “Well, we must get help to him quickly if he’s alive!” decided the contractor, and he led his hurrying men while the girls followed.

  “How long were you in the cellar, Betty?” asked Arden.

  “Only a few minutes. I couldn’t find the box of books at first. It must have been moved. And then I saw—him!”

  “And you didn’t hear anything of the search we have been conducting for the last half hour?” asked Sim.

  “Not the least sound. But then I was away down cellar, and the floors are very heavy.”

  “And we were searching the upper floors,” said Terry. “Of course you couldn’t hear, Betty.”

  Up out of the cellar, sliding and slipping on the crumbling stone steps, came the men carrying an apparently lifeless form. They had found it by means of Betty’s electric torch.

  “Is it the missing man?” called Arden.

  “Yes, it’s Jim Danton,” someone answered.

  “Is he—dead?”

  “We don’t know yet,” said Mr. Callahan. “We’ve got to get him to a doctor pretty quick.”

  “Well, at any rate,” said Dorothy, “the mystery of the poor man’s disappearance is solved, and I hope he isn’t seriously injured.”

  One of the men who was standing near the girls turned to answer Dorothy.

  “That doesn’t explain it,” he said. “Jim was working
on the third floor, but how did he get down in that cellar?”

  CHAPTER XIV

  How Did It Happen?

  Having carried the unconscious man out of the cellar, the men stood at the top of the steps leading down into the darkness, awkwardly holding their burden. The girls had a momentary glimpse of Jim Danton’s face. There was blood on it. With a little shudder and murmur of horror Dorothy turned away.

  “Poor fellow!” murmured Sim.

  “Can’t we do something to help?” asked Terry.

  “You ought to put him down—lay him down flat!” commanded Arden. “There may be broken bones! It isn’t doing him any good to hold him all crumpled that way.”

  “He ought to have a doctor!” declared the contractor. “I wonder if it’s best to try to get him home and have the doctor there or get a doctor here? Where’s a telephone?”

  “There isn’t one anywhere near here,” Betty volunteered.

  “Then we’d best take him home,” decided Mr. Callahan. “But how to do it? I let my partner take my car after he dropped me off here, and I don’t know when he’ll be back.”

  “I have a car!” Sim quickly interposed. “If one of you men will sit in the rumble seat and hold this man, I’ll drive him home—if it isn’t too far.”

  “Oh, he lives right here in Jockey Hollow,” said the tall thin worker. “About two miles from here, down by Primrose Brook.”

  “I’ll take him in my car, then,” decided Sim. “One of you girls had better ride with me,” she added in a lower voice.

  “I will,” Arden offered. “And I know a little about first aid, so maybe we can be of some help when we get this man home—before the doctor comes.” The unfortunate man hadn’t moved, nor did he seem even to breathe.

  “That’s right,” agreed Sim. “But about a doctor?” she asked, turning to the contractor and the men gathered about him. “How are you going to get a doctor?”

  “I’ll run to the nearest telephone, miss, as soon as you start with Jim,” the tall thin man offered. “I know the location of Jim’s house. I can direct the doctor there.”