The Girl Detective Megapack: 25 Classic Mystery Novels for Girls

by Mildred A. Wirt

“Then Mr. Swenster died and when his will was read, the daughters had the surprise of their lives. It was learned that he had left the pearls to his favorite, Rose.”

  “That must have stirred up trouble,” Madge smiled.

  “Yes, Florence considered it a great injustice. She claimed she had been cheated out of her rightful inheritance. For a time, there was a disgraceful fuss.”

  “Rose kept the pearls?” Madge questioned.

  “So it was generally believed, but I doubt if anyone ever knew for certain. The matter was suddenly hushed up.”

  Mrs. Grandale relapsed into a meditative silence, seeming to forget the girls. Then she said, half to herself: “No one ever saw Rose wear the pearls—that was the odd part of it.”

  “Were Rose and Florence friends after that?” Cara probed.

  “They went about together but it was apparent things were not as should be between two sisters. Everyone said the pearls brought them misfortune. At any rate, Florence died the following year.”

  “Oh, how dreadful,” Cara murmured. “How poor Rose must have felt.”

  “She dropped out of society after that,” Mrs. Grandale returned. “For years, she lived alone at the old mansion and then one day, she up and married.”

  “She isn’t living now, of course?” Madge inquired.

  “Oh, no, she died young—shortly after her daughter was born. The little girl was called Agatha. She’s the last of the Swenster line now, and they say the estate has dwindled to almost nothing.”

  “What became of Agatha Swenster?” Cara asked.

  “Well, I can’t exactly say,” the old lady responded, frowning thoughtfully. “She lived in Claymore until eight years ago and then closed up the place because she couldn’t afford to keep such a large house open. She went to another town, but where, I can’t say.”

  “You say she’s the last of the Swenster line,” Madge prompted as Mrs. Grandale appeared to have ended her story. “She never married?”

  “Not to my knowledge. She did have an adopted boy. Let me think—no, I can’t recall his name. He turned out badly. Agatha thought a lot of him and folks said it most broke her heart when he got into trouble.”

  “What did he do?” Cara questioned curiously.

  “I can’t tell you that. The Swensters always kept their troubles to themselves. I do know that it was something that turned Agatha against him. They separated, and after that she closed up her house. It may have been because of money or perhaps on account of the boy. At any rate, she’s having a hard time of it now like as not. She’s getting on in years and with no one to support her, it must be trying.”

  “What do you imagine became of the pearls?” Madge asked suddenly.

  The old lady smiled.

  “I imagine they were sold years ago.”

  The girls had learned all there was to know concerning the Swenster mansion and its former occupants, but they lingered a half hour longer, before saying goodbye to Mrs. Grandale. Before they left, her daughter appeared from the kitchen with fresh-baked cake and a cool beverage.

  “Delightful people,” Cara observed as they drove away. “And did you ever hear anyone more talkative than Mrs. Grandale? She’s a walking encyclopedia of Claymore’s history. Did you learn what you wanted to know, Madge?”

  “I learned enough to make me more interested than ever in the old mansion. Strange about those pearls, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, they turned out to be a sort of family hoodoo.”

  “I wonder if they were actually sold?”

  Cara stared at her friend in astonishment.

  “Why, Mrs. Grandale said they were.”

  “That was only her opinion,” Madge corrected. “Of course, I have no reason for thinking the pearls weren’t sold. I was merely wondering.”

  She relapsed into moody silence and did not broach the subject again during the ride back to Claymore. They had remained at the farmhouse longer than they had planned and it was nearly supper time when they reached the city. Cara requested Madge to drop her off at the Wayne home which was not out of the way.

  “Going to be busy tonight?” Madge inquired as she halted the car in front of the Wayne residence.

  “No—why?”

  “I thought we might do a little sleuthing.”

  “Something in connection with the Swenster mansion?” Cara demanded suspiciously.

  “Yes, I have a notion to go there tonight and watch. It would be fun to see if that man comes back.”

  “Fun!” Cara snorted. “I have other ideas of amusement. Count me out!”

  “Well, if you won’t come, I suppose I can get Jane or Enid,” Madge said shrewdly.

  Cara visibly wavered. She had no desire to go near the Swenster mansion again, but neither could she bear to have Enid or Jane sharing in an adventure which was hers for the taking.

  “All right,” she gave in. “If I can get away, I’ll come.”

  “Meet me at the pine grove at nine o’clock,” Madge directed, as she shifted gears. “And don’t fail to come. Something exciting may break!”

  CHAPTER V

  Madge Turns Sleuth

  Nine o’clock found Madge waiting at the pine grove which adjoined the Swenster Mansion. She stationed herself near a street lamp where Cara could not fail to see her. Ten minutes elapsed, then fifteen.

  Glancing impatiently at her watch, Madge decided it was useless to wait longer for her friend. Slowly she walked on toward the mansion.

  Suddenly she heard a shout from behind, and turned to see Cara running after her. She was out of breath by the time she caught up.

  “Sorry to be so late,” she apologized. “I was afraid I’d not get away at all. Mother and Dad were going to an ice cream social and didn’t see any reason why I shouldn’t go along. I’ll not dare stay out later than eleven.”

  “Neither will I. Let’s hope something interesting happens before that.”

  “Just what do you expect?”

  “I don’t really expect anything, but I’d like very much to learn the identity of your strange ghost.”

  The girls slipped into a side street leading to the rear of the mansion. They found the gate locked and since they were unable to work the trick catch, were forced to climb over again.

  Under the soft, weird light of the moon, the Swenster mansion looked far different than by daylight. Even Madge was willing to admit there was something sinister about the place.

  “I wonder if the spade is still here?” she thought aloud.

  They found it under the lilac bush, but not in the exact place where they had left it on the previous visit.

  “Someone has used it again!” Madge exclaimed. “Oh, I wish we had watched last night!”

  “I’m glad we didn’t,” Cara said nervously. “I’m not keen on watching tonight either.”

  Madge paid not the slightest attention to her friend’s gentle hints that they leave. She surveyed the garden, looking for a suitable hiding place. A huge rhododendron bush offered a possibility and she went over to examine it.

  “This will serve nicely,” she decided. “We’ll be well hidden, and if necessary we can probably slip out the front way without being seen by anyone in the garden.”

  Cara allowed herself to be dragged under the rhododendron although secretly she felt that it was a silly and undignified thing to do. She sank down on the ground gingerly, fearing to soil her silk frock.

  “Better make yourself comfortable,” Madge advised cheerfully. “We’re likely to be here a long time.”

  The prediction came true with a vengeance. Minutes dragged like hours. The girls talked for a time, but soon exhausted all topics of conversation. Their limbs became cramped and they shifted from one position to another. Cara yawned several times and once dozed off for a few minutes.

  “Isn’t it most eleven?” she asked hopefully. “I must be home by that time.”

  Madge looked at her watch which she could plainly see under the bright moonlight.

&nbs
p; “We’ve been here only a little more than an hour,” she informed. “It’s too early to go home yet.”

  Cara sighed and shifted to a new position. The adventure had lost all its original thrill and terror. It was deadly monotonous to lie there watching for something which likely never would come. Madge cheered her friend with good natured “kidding,” but she too was beginning to wonder if they had not wasted the evening.

  “Let’s go home,” Cara said presently. “I don’t care what time it is, I’ve had about enough. Even the ice cream social would have been more fun than this. I’ll be surprised if I can walk in the morning—every muscle in my poor body is lame.”

  “All right,” Madge gave in reluctantly. “I suppose we may as well call it a night. Not much chance—” she broke off, grasping Cara by the hand. “Look!” she whispered tensely. “Someone is coming!”

  Cara turned her head to gaze toward the rear gate. Cold chills raced down her spine. A man was standing at the fence, and she was certain it was the same person she had seen on the night of the initiation. He wore a white sweater which evidently had been the one thing that had impressed her before. At the time she had been so frightened that it had registered upon her mind as “something white” and she had jumped to the conclusion that a ghost was abroad.

  The man looked quickly about in all directions, then unfastened the gate and entered the yard.

  “He’s been here before all right,” Cara whispered, “or he wouldn’t know how to get that gate open.”

  “Sh!” Madge warned.

  She had not taken her eyes from the man. He walked directly to the lilac bush and picked up the spade. He was still too far away for her to see his face plainly.

  The girls watched breathlessly as he walked slowly into the garden, pausing a short distance from the sundial. They saw him gaze thoughtfully about, and then he began to turn up the earth with his spade.

  “He’s not digging where he did before,” Cara whispered. “I wish he would turn this way so we could see his face.”

  Again Madge warned her friend to be silent, and they crouched motionless, watching, for perhaps ten minutes the man spaded steadily. Then with an exclamation of impatience, he refilled the hole.

  “Is he crazy?” Cara whispered, forgetting the admonition to remain silent.

  Madge shook her head to show that the man’s actions were a complete mystery to her.

  The man rested a few minutes, and with his back still toward the rhododendron bush, then began to excavate another hole, only a few feet from the first one.

  “He’s searching for something,” Madge thought. “But what in the world does he expect to find?”

  She was very curious to learn the identity of the stranger and waited patiently until he turned toward her. The light shone full on his face. She had never seen him before.

  Madge glanced questioningly at her chum. Cara shook her head in bewilderment. The man was a stranger to her also.

  It was growing late and in spite of their keen desire to learn all there was to know, the girls dared remain no longer. They decided to wait until the man’s back was turned and attempt to slip around to the front of the house.

  “If we’re caught, it may not be so nice,” Cara whispered nervously.

  They awaited their chance and softly crept from under the bush. Scarcely had they emerged than the man straightened, dropping his spade. It was too late to retreat. The girls could only freeze themselves against the foliage, praying that they would not be seen. And at that moment, he turned and looked directly toward the rhododendron bush!

  CHAPTER VI

  The Unknown Owner

  Madge and Cara felt certain their presence in the garden had been noted, but to their relief, the man looked away again. He rested briefly, then picked up his spade and resumed digging.

  “Now!” Madge whispered the instant his back had turned.

  They moved noiselessly along the vine-covered wall until they were hidden behind the house.

  “I surely thought we were caught that time,” Cara said nervously. “What can he be after anyway?”

  “I wish I knew. Just our luck to have to rush home at the exciting time! He may not come here again.”

  The front gate had been locked with padlock and chain, but the girls found a small opening in the side fence and slipped through. They breathed easier as they emerged on the street. It was after eleven o’clock so they ran nearly all the way to their homes.

  Madge did not see her friend the following day which was Sunday. In spite of her vigorous protest, she was herded into a neighbor’s car and taken on a picnic which Mr. and Mrs. Brady had promised to attend earlier in the week. School opened as usual on Monday, but Cara failed to appear, and upon calling at the Wayne home that evening, Madge found her ill in bed with a cold.

  “I must have caught it from sitting so long on the ground at the Swenster Mansion,” Cara declared. “I hope you’re not going there again tonight.”

  Madge had thought that she might, but with Cara unable to accompany her, it scarcely seemed fair. Then too, the old house at night was not the most pleasant place to be alone. She readily promised her friend the little adventure would be postponed.

  Cara came to school the following day but her cold had left her in no mood to expose herself to chilling night air. As several days elapsed, Madge’s own interest in the mansion waned.

  And then on Saturday morning as she was walking to the store for a pound of sugar which Mrs. Brady had forgotten to order, she was startled to observe that the front gate of the Swenster Mansion stood ajar.

  “That padlock didn’t come off by itself,” she thought alertly.

  The temptation to investigate was too great to resist. She paused at the gate and looked inside the grounds. To her further amazement, she saw the front door open and a workman was removing boards from the downstairs windows.

  “Good morning!” said a pleasant voice.

  Madge jumped. Turning, she saw a middle-aged, white-haired lady, standing by a mock orange bush slightly to the left of the gate. She was regarding Madge with a kindly smile.

  “Oh, I beg your pardon,” the latter apologized in embarrassment. “I didn’t know anyone was at home. I—”

  “I don’t wonder at your interest in the place,” the lady came quickly to her rescue. “The house has been closed for so many years that it must be a town curiosity. Won’t you come in?”

  “Oh, I think not,” Madge murmured, yet aching to do that very thing. “I don’t like to intrude.”

  “It will be no intrusion I assure you,” the other responded warmly. “I was wishing only a moment ago that someone would drop in to visit me. I suppose all my old friends are gone by this time.”

  She sighed, and Madge saw an expression akin to sorrow cross her face. Immediately she smiled again and opened the gate wider.

  “Do come in. The house and grounds are in frightful condition but within a few days I hope to have them in better shape. Perhaps you will help me with suggestions?”

  Madge could not resist such an appeal. Actually, she desired nothing more than an opportunity to talk with the woman, perhaps learning what had brought her to Claymore.

  “I’d love to come in,” she smiled, passing through the gate, “but I’m not very good at suggestions about gardening. You’re—you’re the owner, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, I am Agatha Swenster.”

  Madge introduced herself. Miss Swenster knew how to place her at ease, and soon she lost all feeling of embarrassment. They wandered slowly about the ruined garden. Mrs. Swenster pointed out various things which she planned to have done.

  “It must seem nice to be coming back to your old home,” Madge commented politely.

  “Yes, in a way it does. A great many memories are associated with this house—some very pleasant, others less so. Now that I am here again I should like to remain. However, I fear it is impossible. I am merely putting the place in order before I sell it.”

 
Madge’s face disclosed her disappointment. She could not imagine the old mansion in the hands of a ruthless, modern owner who might tear down the shutters, do away with the old-fashioned garden and relandscape the grounds. It was definitely a house of the past, and Miss Swenster fitted perfectly into the picture.

  “I’m not anxious to sell,” the owner confessed, “but I have no choice. I plan to hold an auction sale in a few weeks. The house is furnished with really lovely pieces of furniture. I should like to have you see my dishes sometime before the sale.”

  “What a shame to auction off such valued possessions,” Madge said with honest regret. “Aren’t you holding anything back?”

  “Very little. You see, I must raise money and this house is all I have left.”

  Apparently realizing that she had paraded her personal affairs, Miss Swenster quickly changed the subject. They continued their tour of the garden, pausing near the sundial. Madge ventured to ask if it had been manufactured special for the Swenster Mansion.

  “No, we made it ourselves,” she explained. “Father worked out the plans before his death, and an old servant did the actual work later.”

  She moved hurriedly on, as though not wishing to dwell upon a subject which brought back unhappy associations.

  It had occurred to Madge to speak of the recent excavations which had been going on in the garden but after a moment’s consideration she decided to allow the matter to go unmentioned.

  She was eager to learn if the man Miss Swenster had engaged to assist with the outside work was the same person she and Cara had observed during their prior visit to the mansion. As Miss Swenster paused to issue orders in regard to trimming the hedge, she had ample opportunity to study the workman’s face. She was certain he was not the man she had seen digging in the garden.

  “The plot thickens,” she thought with quickening interest. “I’ll wager Miss Swenster doesn’t know any more about that digging than I do. Perhaps if I get a little better acquainted, I’ll ask her about it.”

  Madge readily accepted an invitation to view the inside of the house. Nothing was in order and dust was everywhere. Miss Swenster lifted several white sheets to disclose that they protected really fine mahogany and oak pieces. She did not offer to show Madge the upstairs.