The Girl Detective Megapack: 25 Classic Mystery Novels for Girls

by Mildred A. Wirt

  “I’ll bring my car,” Harry said. “But, as there are quite a few things to do, wouldn’t it be wise to take Dick and Betty into our confidence?”

  “And let them help,” spoke Terry.

  “Yes. Dick and I can get in the wood and put the chairs and other furniture in place. I saw a table there for the food,” said Harry.

  “Oh, it’s going to be just—grand!” murmured Sim dramatically.

  “But tell Betty and Dick not to let Granny know about it,” warned Arden. “That would spoil the surprise.”

  “I’ll caution them,” Harry promised. “I’ll go see Dick at the livery stable in the morning and also stop at the library and tell Betty. I’ve been in there for books before.”

  “What about Viney?” asked Sim. “Should she be told?”

  “I’ll leave that to Dick and Betty,” said Harry. “They can use their best judgment. I only hope she doesn’t break up the little affair. She’s very queer, you say?”

  “More than queer—vindictive,” declared Arden.

  “But when she hears the big state news, things are going to ease up a little, I think,” said Sim.

  They talked over the plan, made some changes, and when Harry left that evening all details were practically settled.

  He telephoned the next day, about noon, to say that he had seen Betty and Dick and that they were delighted with the matter. They both said, Harry reported, that Viney must be told or she might break out into a sudden tantrum at the last moment when she learned about it.

  “She probably won’t come to the party,” Harry said. Betty had informed him, but that would be all right, he added. The two grandchildren would escort Mrs. Howe to the old mansion the evening of the affair, at a predetermined hour, on pretense that it would probably be the last Christmas she would ever see with the old house standing.

  It was the day before Christmas. Dick and Harry, with the help of a stable boy, had brought much dry wood into the old Hall. The girls had, each one, bought some little token for Granny and something for Viney, “in case,” Arden said, “she shows up at the last moment and starts a fuss. We’ll have to treat her like a child.”

  Betty and Dick entered into the spirit of the affair and could not say enough in praise of the girls who had thought of it.

  “Granny is going to be very happy about it all,” said Betty gratefully.

  “I hope so,” said Arden. “By the way, Betty, did you ever get those old books you were looking for in the cellar?”

  “I never did. But I’m going in when the house is razed. It will be light down there then. There may be some valuable volumes, the librarian says.”

  In the days that passed between the one before Christmas and the episode of the “mistletoe,” nothing had happened at Sycamore Hall, as far as Arden and her chums could learn. There were no more strange manifestations. But then no workmen were engaged in tearing the place apart.

  Dick and Betty decided not to say anything to Viney Tucker until the afternoon of the party. Otherwise she might have too long a time to brood over it and get some obstreperous notions busy in her old bonnet.

  All the preparations were finished. Moselle had made up a delightful picnic lunch for an evening supper, with thermos bottles of coffee and chocolate. The things were taken to the Hall by Harry in his car, and a hearth fire was lighted early in the afternoon to drive the chill off the big old room.

  Evening came, and after an early meal the girls and Harry went, in two carloads, to the old Hall. Candles had been brought for illumination, and there was quite a collection of flashlights for emergencies.

  Then Arden, her chums, and Harry trooped into the place. More wood was piled on the fire. The hour approached when Dick and Betty were to bring in Granny Howe.

  Footsteps were heard on the porch—voices—laughter.

  “What in the world are you tykes up to?” Granny could be heard asking of Betty and Dick. Her voice was jovial.

  They brought in the dear old lady—into the candlelighted room, where the roaring fire flickered on branches of holly that the girls, with a last moment thought, had hung around the walls.

  “Oh—what—what is all this?” faltered Granny as she saw the little throng of happy, smiling faces. “What does it mean?”

  “Merry Christmas, Granny! Merry Christmas!” cried the girls.

  And Granny, trembling a little, took the old squat rocker before the hearth fire while the merry throng cheered around her.

  This was indeed a Christmas party!

  CHAPTER XXVI

  Two Ghosts

  Several rather tense seconds passed after the jolly holiday greetings before Granny Howe recovered her usual poise. The smile that had been on her cheery face when Dick and Betty led her into the fire-warmed and candlelighted room of the old mansion, and she had seen the merry young people, faded as she sank into the rocker. There was a puzzled expression in her eyes.

  “Well, Granny,” asked Betty, “don’t you like it?”

  “Pretty fine, if you ask me,” said Dick.

  “Oh, but what does it all mean?” murmured the old lady. “I can’t understand. They told me,” she went on, looking from Betty to Dick, “that someone here wanted to see me. They suggested it might be the last time I could view this dear old room, as the contractor would probably rush the work of tearing the house down after Christmas. So I came. Here I am. But what does it mean?” She was bewildered.

  “We are the ones who wanted to see you, Granny Howe,” said Sim.

  “We thought you would like a last little party in your old home,” said Terry, who managed to get along with only a slight limp now. “And here it is!” She pulled aside a cloth that had been put over the food piled on an old table.

  “How kind of you,” Granny said. There was a suspicious brightness in her eyes.

  “But it is going to be more than just a little party,” spoke Arden. “We have some good news for you.”

  “News,” supplemented Dorothy, “which we hope will make your Christmas very happy.” Doubtless Dorothy felt that, like some, of her actress mother’s experiences, this was a sort of play and all the actors must contribute a line.

  “What news?” faltered Granny Howe.

  “Mr. Pangborn will tell you!” said Arden, pushing Harry forward, for he had shifted about until he was behind Dorothy. “It was his idea, and he must have the credit for it.”

  “Oh, nonsense! I don’t want any credit. And you girls are as much in it as I am!” Harry protested. “You tell her, Arden!”

  “No. It requires a man’s legal mind to go into the details. Go on, Harry. Can’t you see she is on the verge of a breakdown if you keep her in suspense much longer?” she whispered. Indeed, the old lady was trembling more than a little. Dick, too, seemed a little uncertain of what the next move was to be. But Betty’s eyes were very bright. Sim, Terry, and Dorothy were smiling happily.

  “It will not take long to explain,” said Harry. Then, as simply as he could, he related the offer of the Park Commission. In effect it meant a much better chance than Granny Howe had ever had to prove her claim, assisted by the best legal minds that could be engaged.

  “Isn’t that a wonderful Christmas present, Granny!” cried Betty. “Now perhaps we shall get something from the estate and I can finish my studies instead of slaving in that musty library. And Dick, too! He can go to college now!”

  “Does it really mean,” asked Dick, “that we will get some of the money the state has set aside for the purchase of the old Howe property in Jockey Hollow?”

  “I think you are pretty certain to get something,” said Harry. “It may take considerable time—it’s a complicated legal matter—but at least you are going to have your day in court, which you never had before.”

  There was silence a moment, and Granny, looking from one to another, said gently:

  “It is kind of you—more kind than I can appreciate now. I’m all in a flutter!” She laughed a little. “But I have for so long a time
given up hope that now I don’t just know how to get hopeful again. I don’t want to discourage any of you, especially Mr. Pangborn, for I realize all he has done in getting this concession from the Park Commission. But doesn’t it all hinge on the fact that papers—deeds, wills, or something—are necessary for me to prove my claim?”

  “Yes, I suppose it would be much easier if you had the missing papers,” said Harry. “But I understand they cannot be found, so we must do the best we can without them.”

  “They have been lost for many years,” sighed Granny. “With them to prove my claim and the claims of my grandchildren, everything would be easy. Years ago I used to hunt day and night in this old house for those papers, for I always felt they must be hidden here. But I have given up that hope—long ago.”

  Suddenly a change came over Granny Howe. She arose from the rocker and with a bright smile exclaimed:

  “Now, enough of this! I am going to get back my hope! I thank you all from the bottom of my heart—you have been wonderful! I must not be gloomy and doubtful! Wasn’t something said about a party?” she went on with a bright glance at Arden. “And all the parties I ever attended were jolly affairs. This must be the same!”

  “Hurrah for Granny!” cried Sim. “Now, on with the food!”

  Then the party really did begin, and in the intervals of eating, talking, and piling more wood on the blaze, Harry sketched what he thought the probable legal action would be. He offered to take charge for Granny, and his offer was accepted with grateful thanks.

  “I suppose,” he suggested to the old lady, “that you can’t throw any light on the so-called ghostly happenings here?”

  “Not the least in the world,” laughed Granny. “None of them ever happened in my sight or hearing. I just don’t believe them. Though, I suppose, there must be something queer, for there are many stories dating back a long time. And surely those workmen wouldn’t act as they did unless something happened. And that one poor man wouldn’t purposely slide down an ash-chute, I think. But it’s all a mystery to me.”

  “Do you know any more stories about the place you haven’t told us?” asked Arden. “I mean a sort of ghost story that isn’t about Patience Howe or Nathaniel Greene?”

  “I might manage to remember one,” smiled Granny.

  “Oh, do tell us!” begged Terry and Sim.

  Dorothy was on the outer edge of the little circle about Granny, who sat near the crackling fire. Harry had wandered to a distant window, and Dorothy followed him.

  “Are you game?” she whispered to him.

  “For what?”

  “To go and look for a ghost instead of sitting here listening to stories about one. Come on! I dare you!” she challenged, her eyes sparkling in the hearth glow. “We each can take a flashlight. Let’s slip away while the others are listening to Granny tell that story, and see if there isn’t a real ghost on some of the upper floors. Night and Christmas Eve ought to be a proper time for a ghost, hadn’t it? Will you come with me?”

  “I will!” said Harry without a moment of hesitation.

  They slipped out of the room, attracting no attention, and, flashing the beams of their electric torches ahead of them, walked softly up the broad stairs. It was cold and gloomy away from the gay Christmas room, but they did not mind. The spirit of the quest was upon them.

  They walked the length of the long upper halls. In a far corner of the second one, where the work of demolition had not started, half hidden by old boards and trash, stood a cedar chest.

  “Perhaps,” said Dorothy with a nervous little laugh, “the ghost lies in there. If it were a closet we might look for the skeleton. But let’s have a look, anyhow.”

  Harry raised the lid, which was covered with dust and white plaster dust. Dorothy flashed her light within. Then she uttered a suppressed scream. For the first glance seemed to show in the chest the body of a woman clad in a red cloak resting beside the form of a Continental soldier with high black boots.

  “The ghosts!” murmured Dorothy.

  “No, only their garments!” said Harry, laughing. “But I think, Dot, that at last we are on the trail of the mystery!”

  CHAPTER XXVII

  Frightened Screams

  Harry tilted the lid of the chest back against the wall, and with both hands now free was thus able to flash the beams of his torch into the box, which was what Dorothy also was doing. The double illumination revealed other garments in the long narrow box. Henry lifted out the old Continental soldier uniform—coat, trousers, a hat, and the heavy boots.

  “They have been worn recently,” he said. “Not much dust on them.”

  “And the cloak?” asked Dorothy in a tense voice.

  “That, also, has very little dust on it,” he said, lifting it out.

  Then a daring project came into Dorothy’s mind.

  “I dare you,” she said, “to dress up as the old soldier—just the coat, hat, and boots—and walk with me, in masquerade, into the room where Granny is telling a ghost story. I’ll put on the red cloak—and this!”

  She reached in and lifted from the chest a white kerchief and a sort of tam-o’-shanter cap.

  “Let’s be two live ghosts,” she proposed. “It will be a fitting end to the Christmas party, and then—well, you said you thought we were near the end of the ghost trail.”

  “I really believe we are. Somebody has been using these garments to create all this ghost atmosphere in the old Hall. Dorothy, I’ll take your dare, and after we have had our fun we will start a new investigation and try to find out who has been responsible for all this.”

  “This is going to be good!” murmured the girl, a natural actress, as she threw the red cloak about her shoulders after adjusting the kerchief as it might have been worn in Colonial days, crossed on her breast. With the cap jauntily askew on her head, she looked very like the reputed ghost of Patience Howe.

  Harry slipped off his shoes, put on the heavy boots, donned the coat and hat, and they were ready. With flashlights held out in front of them to illuminate the dark hall, they started for the lower room whence faintly floated up the laughter following Granny Howe’s story.

  “It’s time we started back,” whispered Dorothy. “They will miss us in another moment.”

  They were near the head of the stairs when, suddenly, the door of a room opened slightly and a light gleamed through the crack. It was the room containing the mysterious closet from which Jim Danton had so strangely vanished, to be found in the cellar.

  The door opened wider. Then an old woman, an old woman with a wrinkled face and straggling gray hair, looked out. In one hand she held a small flashlight.

  She glared at Harry and Dorothy in their masquerade costumes, and then a look of deadly fear came over her face. She uttered several wild and piercing screams and turned back into the room, still gibbering and gasping.

  A second later there was the sound of something wooden moving inside the room—a sound followed by a resounding blow, as though the heavy lid of a chest had fallen.

  Another wild scream and then silence.

  “Oh!” gasped Dorothy. “What is it? Who is she?”

  “Must be that Viney Tucker, cousin of Granny’s,” exclaimed Harry. “But what was she doing up here? We must have frightened the wits out of her. And I’m afraid something has happened.”

  He hurried into the room, followed by Dorothy. The closet door was open and their lights, flashing within it, revealed a square hole in the floor—a square hole opening into a smooth wooden chute that curved downward and into the darkness. And from that darkness now came up faint moans.

  “This is awful!” cried Dorothy. “What have we done?”

  “We haven’t done anything, but I think we have made a big discovery!” said Harry. “This trapdoor explains how Jim got into the cellar and I think that’s where we’ll now find Mrs. Tucker. She has been caught in her own trap!”

  By this time the Christmas guests in the room below had come running out with their f
lashlights, calling up to know what was going on.

  Harry hurried down the stairs, followed by Dorothy.

  “The ghosts!” screamed Terry, pointing a trembling finger at them.

  “No!” Harry shouted for he wanted to prevent any more hysterical outbursts. “It’s just a little joke Dorothy and I started, but I’m afraid it is far from a joke now.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Granny Howe in a strained voice. “And where did you get those clothes?”

  “We’ll explain it all in a moment,” answered Harry. “But just now I think we had better see about your cousin, Mrs. Howe.”

  “You mean Viney Tucker? What’s the matter with her? Who did that awful screaming just now?”

  “Mrs. Tucker; and I am afraid she has fallen down a secret passage into the cellar.”

  “Oh, how terrible!” gasped Arden.

  “But what does it all mean?” Sim exclaimed.

  “I think,” said Harry, “it means the end of the ghosts in the old Hall. Come along, any of you who wish to—if you aren’t afraid—but perhaps Dick and I—”

  “We’ll all come!” declared Granny bravely. “Poor Viney! She wouldn’t attend the Christmas party with me. She must have taken a sudden notion and come over by herself—but a secret passage to the cellar—I don’t understand!”

  “We’ll have it all cleared up soon, I think,” Harry said. “There must be an inside way into the cellar, isn’t there?”

  “I’ll show you,” offered Granny. “It’s at the back of the hall, and there’s also one leading out of the old kitchen. The hall way is nearer.”

  They found Viney Tucker lying in about the same place where Betty had discovered Jim Danton. The grim old lady in the black cloak was faintly moaning. Harry bent over her and made a hasty examination.

  “Not badly hurt, I should say,” was his verdict. “Just stunned—and very badly frightened.”

  “What frightened her?” asked Arden.

  “I’m afraid we did,” Dorothy confessed.

  “What in the world possessed you two to sneak off and put on a masquerading act like this?” asked Sim.

  “We’ll explain everything in a few minutes,” answered Harry. “Just now we must get Mrs. Tucker upstairs. Here, Dick, you take this awkward long-tailed coat,” and he slipped off the one that had formerly covered a soldier. “I’ll carry Mrs. Tucker.”