“You do!” replied Linda, laughingly, as she turned about to see Mike O’Malley grinning at her.
“Well, I didn’t mean to,” he apologized. “But will you forgive me and tell me all about the hunt, and winning that marvelous prize?”
“Of course,” agreed Linda, and she proceeded to relate the story, even including Mrs. Fishberry’s reappearance.
“Did you get her address, when she took Amy away?” he asked.
“No, I tried, but Mrs. Fishberry wouldn’t give it—said she hadn’t a permanent one, only a hotel in Chicago.”
“Shucks!” cried Mike, in dismay. “There’s something queer about this business! That fish is crooked, if I know what I’m talking about. How about that home in Montana she talked about the first time? And why didn’t she mention this place before, if she had a key, and could get in?— Miss Carlton, if you care for Amy, I think you’d better go after her— I’d—like to help you.”
“Yes, I believe you’re right, Mike,” agreed Linda. “Only I don’t know just what to do.”
“Let’s fly over to the place to-morrow,” suggested Dot. “We could go right from here, instead of going home to Green Falls first.”
“It suits me,” agreed Linda. It was just what she was wanting, yet dreading to do.
“May I trail along after you in my Ford?” asked Mike.
“Yes, indeed,” replied Linda. “I’d love to have you. And will you bring some tools, so that we can force our way into that tower, if it is necessary? I suspect trouble there.”
“You’re really going to dare that?” demanded Dot.
“Dare what?” demanded Mike.
Linda and Dot exchanged whimsical glances. “You wait and see,” said Linda. “If we get into that tower, I’ll show you the strangest sight you ever laid your eyes on!”
“Then,” asserted the boy, “we’ll get in, if we have to scale the walls! I’m always out for strange stories for theStar.”
“Well, you’ll get one there,” Linda promised, “if you help us get in.”
When Linda left Amy with Mrs. Fishberry at the old house, the latter slowly led the way towards the road. But as soon as the autogiro vanished from sight she stood still, and gazed straight at the girl.
“You still don’t remember me, Helen?” she asked.
The girl shook her head.
“No, I don’t, Mrs. Fishberry.”
“Call me Aunt Elsie, please— But you claim to remember the house?”
“Yes—sort of. But you said I lived in Montana,” she replied, in confusion.
“You lived here with your grandfather for a while,” Mrs. Fishberry explained, “after your father and mother died. They were killed in an automobile accident when you were a baby—” So far this was the truth. But what the woman went on to add was a lie which she told at Ed Tower’s request.—“After your grandfather died, I took you to Montana to live with me. Your uncle Ed is your only living relative. He and your father were brothers.”
“And their name was Tower?” asked Helen.
“Yes. I think that’s why your grandfather built that high tower on his house—because of his name. The idea pleased him.”
“But if my uncle Ed is my only living relative, what are you? I thought you said you were my aunt!”
“I’m not really your aunt yet—but I will be on Monday, for I’m going to marry your uncle Ed,” admitted Mrs. Fishberry. “No, I am a widow now—an old friend of the family. But I offered to bring you up when your grandfather died, and you have always called me ‘Aunt Elsie.’ Your uncle was traveling so much on business that he couldn’t take care of you.”
Mrs. Fishberry smiled to herself with satisfaction as she told this story. Not a bad story, she thought, for one that had to be made up so quickly. And the girl actually seemed to believe it!
Both were silent for a moment, while another idea leaped into the woman’s mind. Why not leave the girl here, locked in this empty house, while she returned to Chicago? They could get her again on Monday, when Ed came over to set fire to the place. Surely there must be food in the kitchen. But she mustn’t let Helen suspect that she was going to be left alone!
“I don’t see the car,” she remarked, casually. “The driver must have gone away. I told him if I didn’t come back in half an hour that he needn’t wait— We’ll spend the night here, dear, and your uncle will drive over for us to-morrow.”
The girl stared at the speaker in horror. She simply couldn’t spend another night in this awful house! All too vividly she remembered the ghost in the tower.
“We can’t, Aunt Elsie!” she protested. “It’s too—awful!” Her voice had sunk to a hoarse whisper.
“What’s too awful?” asked Mrs. Fishberry, lightly.
“That house. The ghost in the tower.”
“What ghost?”
“There is a terrible ghost in that tower at night. I can see it from my old bed-room window. His—hands—move!”
“Now dear, you’re being silly,” reproved the woman. “How can you remember anything like that, that happened so long ago! It must have been some foolish dream you had when you were not much more than a baby.”
“But I can even picture it now!” she persisted.
“Oh, come on,” urged the other, grasping her by the arm. “You’re too old for such ridiculous fancies now. Besides, I’m right here. Nothing can harm you.” She almost dragged her back by force to the house.
“I—I—know I’ll die, Aunt Elsie,” sobbed Helen, her voice shaking with fear. “Or go crazy.”
Mrs. Fishberry drew down the corners of her mouth.
“I think that you’re crazy now,” she remarked, with biting scorn.
The girl started to cry piteously. She was weak and helpless; now that Linda Carlton and her dear Aunt Emily had been taken from her, there was no one in the world to protect her. For she had no faith in this strange uncle, who apparently cared as little for her as did this harsh woman.
“I want Linda!” she cried. “Oh, Linda, why did you leave me?”
“You little fool!” exclaimed Mrs. Fishberry in exasperation. “You’re acting like an idiot. That girl was no friend to you.”
“She was the best friend I ever had!” cried Helen, vehemently.
“Oh, yeah?” snarled her companion. She was so irritated that she gave up her pretense of being the kind aunt. “And you were too dumb to see through those scheming Carltons!”
“What do you mean?” demanded Helen, up in arms at the slur to her new friends.
“They were trying to pull the wool over your eyes, of course! So that you wouldn’t remember anything.”
“What do you mean by ‘pull the wool over my eyes?’”
“It’s just an expression, Miss Dumb-bell. I see that I have to explain everything to you, as if you were a child six years old. I’ll have to tell you in words of one syllable:
“Linda Carlton was doing stunts with that plane of hers near to the ground. Somebody, never mind who, but somebody we know, saw her. And she crashed andhit you! There wasn’t any car driving along the road at all. So she made up the story and got her friend to swear that it was true!”
Helen’s dark eyes were blazing with righteous anger.
“Don’t you dare to say Linda Carlton would lie!” she exclaimed. “She’s the soul of honor, and so is Dot Crowley!”
“You don’t say so,” observed Mrs. Fishberry, sarcastically. “Well, I happen to know she did lie, and we’ve got proof of it. Why do you suppose she and her aunt were so nice to you? Because they thought you were beautiful, or interesting, or rich?”
“No, I guess not,” admitted Helen, choking over the words. “I guess I was a sight in those dreadful clothes—” She turned to her companion accusingly. “If you took care of me, why didn’t you dress me better?”
“Because we’re poor. I had to sacrifice everything to provide food for you.”
“But your clothes are pretty nice,” observed the girl, shrewdly.
“Well, what of it?” snapped the other. “You haven’t answered my question yet. Why did the Carltons make so much of you, if it wasn’t to stop your mouth? They thought that if they entertained you for a week in their house, afterwards, if your memory came back, you wouldn’t sue them.”
“What do you mean by ‘sue them?’” asked Helen, with that amazing ignorance that she showed every once in a while regarding ordinary words. “There was a girl in Linda’s crowd named Sue Emery——”
“You get dumber by the minute!” returned Mrs. Fishberry. “We’re going to make Miss Linda Carlton pay fifty thousand dollars damages because she smashed into you with her plane. Now, do you get that?”
“You wouldn’t!” cried Helen, in horror. “You just couldn’t!”
“Sure we could. The law is on our side.” The woman’s manner suddenly changed, and she remembered to play the part of the fond aunt. “Now don’t you worry, Helen,” she added. “It’s for you we’re doing it. We’ll spend the money on you. First, for a good doctor—a specialist to restore your memory—and then for education and pretty clothes. You’ll be a fine lady some day, if you don’t act silly about Linda Carlton.”
“But I love her, and I don’t believe anything against her.”
“You love her more than you do me, because she took care of you for a week, while I gave the best years of my life to you!”
“I’m sorry, Aunt Elsie, but you can’t expect me to be grateful for something I can’t remember.”
While they had been talking they had reached the front door of the house and stopped at the steps of the porch. The wooden boards had rotted and the heavy door was sadly in need of paint. Everything about the place suggested neglect, ruin, and decay.
Helen shuddered.
“Let’s not stay here!” she begged. “I’d rather walk all the way to town than sleep in this haunted house over night.”
“Nonsense,” replied the other. “I’m tired and hungry. Come on in.”
She pulled the girl up the steps, and, selecting a large key from her hand bag, inserted it into the lock and turned the knob. The heavy door creaked and opened.
Inside, the house was gloomy and forbidding. All the old-fashioned shutters were closed so that the appearance within was almost of night. Helen stopped at the doorway and shivered with fear.
“Come along back to the kitchen and we’ll see if we can find something to eat,” said Mrs. Fishberry in a cheerful tone.
“I don’t want to!” objected Helen.
“Don’t be a coward!” returned the other. “I’m ashamed of you!”
Plucking up her courage the girl led the way through the large dim hall, with its great dark staircase in the center, to the wing where the kitchen had been built. The door of this room was locked on the outside with another huge key.
“Here we are!” exclaimed Mrs. Fishberry, as she opened the door. “Now can’t we get some light into this room?”
She walked over to the windows and tried to raise them. But they were evidently nailed and barred on the outside.
“I wonder whether there is any food,” she remarked. “And what kind of stove this is.”
“It’s an oil stove,” answered Helen, in a flash. “And there’s a supply of oil under that table. And here’s where the food is kept,” she added, pointing to a large cupboard.
Mrs. Fishberry eyed her narrowly.
“You remember pretty well, Helen,” she said.
“Yes, I do. Look, here’s tea and sugar and oatmeal. Well, we won’t starve.”
“That’s good. Now can you remember where to get the water?”
“Yes, there’s a pump out back. But this door won’t open. It must be barred up—yes, I remember it was when Linda and I looked at it.”
“That’s all right. You go out the front door with these two buckets and bring in some water. I’ll be looking about for a place to sleep.”
While the girl was gone, Mrs. Fishberry made an inspection. A small, winding staircase led from the kitchen to a room above, a bedroom, and in this she decided that Helen could sleep. It would be a simple matter to slip out of the kitchen and lock the girl in, leaving her here until Monday morning. With food and water at hand, no court could hold Mrs. Fishberry responsible if anything happened. And what was the use of taking her to Chicago and paying unnecessary board for her in the meanwhile?
It was all accomplished without the slightest difficulty. When Helen returned, Mrs. Fishberry waited only long enough to light the oil stove and to put some oatmeal on to cook. Then she asked the girl to run up the staircase and see whether she had dropped her handkerchief when she was up in the bedroom. By the time Helen had returned the kitchen door to the hall was locked and Mrs. Fishberry was turning the key in the outer door of the house.
Five minutes later she stepped into her taxicab and bade the driver return to the railroad station.
When Helen came down the crooked staircase from the bedroom into the kitchen, she did not perceive at once that she was alone. Though not so dark as the rest of the house—for there were no shutters at the kitchen windows—this room was far from bright. Two small windows afforded the only means of admitting the light, and each of these had several boards nailed across the outside.
“Aunt Elsie, where are you?” she called, trying to keep her voice calm.
There was no answer.
“Aunt Elsie!” she cried, in a louder tone, as she rushed over to the door. To her horror she found it locked.
Darting to the nearest window, she peered outside. But as there was no view of the front from the kitchen, she did not see her.
In a panic she started to scream.
“Mrs. Fishberry! Aunt Elsie! Where are you?”
Wildly she looked about the dimly-lighted room, as if in some corner she expected to see the ghost of the tower, working its evil upon them, because they had dared to return to this old house.
But she saw nothing, and overcome with terror, she sank to the floor in a bitter abandon of weeping.
The room grew darker; the silence became ominous. Any moment she expected that weird apparition with its skinny hands to enter through the closed windows, and torture her. Now and again she heard queer moans and creaks, but whether they were caused by the wind in the trees outside, or mice in the ancient boards, she did not know.
She must have fallen asleep, crouched in that position on the floor, for when she regained consciousness it was entirely dark in the kitchen. Hardly realizing where she was, she stumbled to her feet and went right to the drawer in the cupboard where the candles were kept. She lighted one, and shivered anew at the weird, gloomy shadows it cast upon the walls. If the house seemed forbidding before, it was actually ghostly now. Strange shapes seemed to rise out of the darkness, to leer at her in her loneliness. She groped her way to the stove and sat down upon the hard kitchen chair beside it to think.
It was the thought of Linda Carlton that kept her from losing her reason. Linda, who had flown over the Atlantic Ocean alone in the darkness, Linda who had assured Helen that her fears were groundless. She must live through this experience, she told herself, live to be a credit to the girl who had saved her life! Live to stand up for Linda Carlton when she should be accused by false witnesses! With a grim determination to control herself at any cost, she walked back to the cupboard for a saucer and a spoon, and forced herself to eat the oatmeal which had all the while been cooking on the oil stove.
The food revived her, and the water tasted good. Somehow she felt better.
Remembering that her bedroom was lighter than the kitchen, because she could open the shutters, Helen took a candle and ascended the stairs. But here a new terror took possession of her. She recalled the fact that she could see the ghost in the tower from the window!
Trembling at the very thought, she placed her candle on the old-fashioned wash stand and sat down on the big wooden bed to try to get command of herself. What would Linda Carlton do in a case like this, she steadfastly asked herself?
“Forget it, of course,” she replied aloud in a natural tone, and the sound of her own voice, without even a tremble, gave her courage.
“I won’t even open that shutter,” she decided, “and then I shan’t have to see it!”
With this resolve, she set herself to the task of opening the other window and of making her preparations for bed. How familiar it all was! She remembered even the contents of the bureau drawers: an old doll which she had kept since her childhood, some other toys, and a few clothes. Very few indeed, for she must have been exceedingly poor.
As she wandered about the old-fashioned room, so different from the bedrooms of Linda’s friends, her eyes lighted upon the book case. Filled with strange volumes of adventure, which must have belonged to her grandfather. And then, on a bedside table, she came upon her own little Bible.
As she opened this worn black book, a picture fell out. An old-fashioned picture of an old woman—a kindly person, with a sweet smile. Helen’s heart beat fast; she seized the picture with trembling fingers. Memories flooded back to her in wild confusion, but at the center of them all was this dear woman—her old nurse—Mrs. Smalley!
“Oh, darling Nana!” she cried, ecstatically kissing the photograph, and calling the woman by the old familiar name. “Nana, you have brought back my memory to me!”
But a start of dismay followed closely upon her joy. Where was Nana now?
“Why, she’s out looking for me, of course!” she answered herself. “And she is so poor that she probably had to walk all the way to the city, and never even saw a newspaper until she got there! Oh, my poor dear Nana! She can’t walk fast! Those wretched feet of hers! And her deafness, and her failing eyesight!”
The thought of the beloved nurse’s plight took Helen’s worries away from herself entirely. She forgot how lonely, how fearful, how forsaken she was. If only she could get out of this house, and hunt the dear soul! Do something for Nana, who would gladly lay down her life for her child!
But escape was impossible now; she must wait until to-morrow when Mrs. Fishberry had promised that her uncle would return.
“My uncle?” thought Helen, trying vainly to remember such a man. Surely he had not lived here, for she could recall her life perfectly with Mrs. Smalley. They had lived alone after the death of her old grandfather, whom she could still vaguely recall. They had slept together in this bed, and cooked on that little oil stove, and tended a garden on the side of the house. Oh, there had been precious little money—she remembered how her nurse had sometimes sold books and pieces of furniture, and how she had often sent her to the post office to see whether there was a letter. Probably it was there she was walking on the day of that accident. But what letter could she have expected? From whom? From her uncle, of course! Who once in a while sent Mrs. Smalley a five-dollar bill.
But Helen could not remember what he was like. Perhaps he had visited them when she was a very small child, but she did not know what he looked like. And from what Mrs. Smalley had said, he was not a good man, or a kind one.
But who was Mrs. Fishberry? Try as she might, she could not recall ever having seen her before. And why did her uncle want her now, after neglecting her all these years? Oh, if she had only known all this when she was with Linda Carlton, she need not have gone away with that woman! And now she would be free to hunt for Mrs. Smalley! Linda would have been glad to help, would have flown all over the country, if need be, in her autogiro, to find her.
Helen sighed, but she did not despair. With the return of her memory a great weight was lifted from her heart. That ghost would not come into her room, she assured herself, with the shutters tightly closed, and the morning would bring freedom. Freedom to find Mrs. Smalley, to share with her that wonderful prize of five hundred dollars which Linda had so generously insisted that she take.
So she read her Bible for a while, as her nurse had trained her to do every evening before she went to bed, and at last, tired out by her exciting day in the skies, she fell fast asleep.
When she awoke, without even once experiencing any bad dream, she was in high spirits. How good it was to see the sunshine pouring in through the one open window and to hear the birds singing in the trees. Surely to-day her uncle would come for her.
She dressed and cooked herself some oatmeal and made tea for her breakfast. A search in the cupboard rewarded her with the discovery of some dried beans and a few home-made cookies. Made for her, of course, by dear Mrs. Smalley—in the hope that her child would return! How unhappy the good woman must have been when day after day brought only disappointment!
All day long Helen watched at her bed-room window for some signs of arrival; all day long she listened for the sound of a motor car. But hour after hour passed quietly, until the sun began to sink in the sky, and she at last gave up hope of being rescued.
With the horror of approaching night a new fear took possession of her. Suppose they never came at all! Suppose Mrs. Fishberry meant to abandon her entirely in this gruesome house, until she starved to death, or lost her mind? How long could she hope to keep alive on those dried beans? And the limited supply of water! How dreadful it must be to die of thirst—far more horrible she believed, than of hunger.
But she must not give up so easily. There were knives in that kitchen cupboard; if she worked patiently enough she could cut the woodwork. By cutting the wood and breaking the glass she need not be a prisoner long.
But she would not begin that night, she hastily decided. Such an act of destruction might enrage that ghost in the tower, if it were the spirit of her grandfather, as she had always believed it to be. No, she would wait for daylight. How sorry she was that she had wasted this whole day!
It was more difficult for her to go to sleep that night than upon the previous one, for she was not tired. But she resolutely read her Bible and kept her thoughts upon Linda and Nana until her eyelids began to droop.
Then, with a contented sigh, she fell back on her pillow asleep.
Mike O’Malley, the young reporter who had volunteered his help in making an investigation of the empty house, departed immediately after his conversation with Linda and Dot on Sunday morning at Lake Winnebago.
“I’ll be over at the place to-morrow, late in the afternoon,” he promised, as he put the map of directions into his pocket. “And I’ll bring tools with me. Maybe I’ll even commandeer a ladder from the nearest farmhouse, so we can climb in a window if it is necessary. Like regular robbers!”
“That’s an idea!” approved Linda, thinking how useful such a thing might be in getting into the tower. “Make it a good high one!”
The two girls left their secluded spot and strolled back to the Inn to join the other guests. Here a surprise of an exceedingly unpleasant nature awaited Linda. Her Aunt Emily handed her a telegram which was far from being a message of congratulation upon winning the race, as the older woman suggested that it might be.
Opening it hastily, she read these threatening words:
“Miss Linda Carlton,Green Falls, Mich.“You are hereby informed that my client, Mrs. Edward Tower (formerly Mrs. Elsie Fishberry), of Chicago, will sue you for $50,000 damages for striking her niece, Helen Tower, with your autogiro. We have a witness.Leo Epstein,Attorney at Law.”
“Miss Linda Carlton,Green Falls, Mich.
“Miss Linda Carlton,
Green Falls, Mich.
“You are hereby informed that my client, Mrs. Edward Tower (formerly Mrs. Elsie Fishberry), of Chicago, will sue you for $50,000 damages for striking her niece, Helen Tower, with your autogiro. We have a witness.
Leo Epstein,Attorney at Law.”
Linda read the message through twice before she could really believe it. With a blank stare she handed it silently to her aunt.
“Why, that’s absurd!” cried the older woman, unusually angry for her. “Fifty thousand dollars! Why, you haven’t got that much money!”
“I know. But I suppose Mrs. Fishberry thought we were enormously rich. Mike O’Malley said there was something crooked about this woman, and I believe him. I bet this is the only reason she bothered to get Amy back.”
“It’s a frame-up, of course,” said Miss Carlton. “The witness is someone who is being bribed to lie. And a dishonest lawyer, who is willing to take the case for what he can get out of it. You have a witness too, however, in Dot.”
“Yes, but the judge may say that since she’s my friend that of course she would testify for me. Oh, Aunt Emily, what shall we do? Wire for Daddy to come to Green Falls?”
“I’m afraid we can’t do that, my dear. I had a telegram from him yesterday just before we left home—I forgot to tell you in the excitement over the treasure hunt—informing me that he was sailing for Paris to-day. He is going to wander about France, in some of the smaller towns, partly on business and partly for pleasure. We simply can’t wire him.”
“Then what shall we do?” repeated Linda, desperately.
“I don’t know. We’ll have to think about it. Write to Mr. Irwin, I suppose. He is a wonderful lawyer, you know.”
“Will you do that for me right away, Aunt Emily?”
“Yes, dear, if you’ll promise to cheer up and forget it for the time being. After all you have done nothing wrong, and there is nothing to worry about— Now, will you go get ready for lunch? It ought to be announced any minute now.”
Leaving the disagreeable telegram with her aunt, Linda went to her room to dress. When she returned, another surprise awaited her, which she did not know whether to regard as pleasant or not. She had tried to put the thought of Lord Dudley out of her mind, and here he was again—as fascinating and as handsome as ever.
He was standing in the corner of the reception room talking with Tom Hulbert and another man, a stranger to Linda, when the girl came down the stairs.
“Miss Carlton!” he exclaimed, with his charming smile, and in another moment he was shaking hands with her and introducing the stranger, John Kuhns, a friend of Tom Hulbert, to her.
“But how did you know about this party?” demanded Linda. “We all told you about the treasure hunt, but I didn’t think you knew about the house-party here at the lake.”
“Oh, Mr. Clavering invited me to join you all here, before I left Green Falls. But I’ve been very busy, in Chicago, and I couldn’t get away last night. If it hadn’t been for Mr. Kuhns, I shouldn’t be here now.”
At this moment Ralph Clavering and his father joined the little group, the younger man as usual looking annoyed at the reappearance of another admirer of Linda.
“I hope that you and Mr. Kuhns can arrange to stay until to-morrow, Lord Dudley,” said the older man cordially. “The party isn’t breaking up till the afternoon.”
“That’s awfully kind,” replied the Englishman, “but I’m afraid I can’t. I have some rather important business on for to-morrow. So Kuhns and I are flying back this afternoon.” He turned to Linda. “In which case,” he said, “since my time is so short, may I have a stroll with you after luncheon, Miss Carlton?”
Linda hesitated.
“We were all going to take our planes up this afternoon—” she began.
“That can be postponed until four o’clock,” suggested Mr. Clavering, graciously. Ralph, however, frowned moodily, and walked away.
Linda herself was not so sure that she wanted a tête-à-tête with this man. It would be easier to forget him if she did not see much of him. But there was no real reason to refuse, so she met him again at half-past two on the porch.
“I certainly want to congratulate you, Miss Carlton,” he said, as they strolled towards the lake. “And I hear that the prize is money.”
“Yes,” she replied, smiling. “A thousand dollars. But I am sharing it with Amy, because she really found the place.”
“Amy?” he repeated. “That girl—your protégée?”
“Yes.”
“And where is she now?” he asked casually. Linda wondered whether he were merely talking to keep the conversation impersonal. Well, he needn’t worry about her; fascinating as he was, she didn’t want to marry him!
“Her aunt took her away from me,” she replied. “It seems that where the treasure was hidden, was really her old home.”
“Indeed!” he remarked. “And you say you met her aunt? Then you found out who she was, and everything is all right?”
“Yes. Her real name is Helen Tower. The woman had pictures, and a key to the house. But she was a very disagreeable person.”
“Too bad for the child,” he muttered. “Did the girl know her?”
“No, she didn’t. And she didn’t want to go. But Mrs. Fishberry insisted. And now she is making things very unpleasant for me.”
“How’s that?”
“She claims that I smashed into Amy with my autogiro—that there wasn’t any car at all. And she’s going to sue me for fifty thousand dollars!”
“How can she?” demanded her companion, angrily. Then his eyes twinkled, and he asked suddenly, “Was there really a car, Linda?”
Linda’s eyes blazed. Did this man actually think she would lie? Of course, he hadn’t known her long, but she thought he knew her well enough for that.
“Of course, there was a car,” she replied, haughtily. “A gray car, driven by an elderly man, at eighty miles an hour—or something like that. I have Miss Crowley as a witness, but they say they have one, too, and I suppose I shall have to go to court.”
“Always in the newspapers,” he remarked, teasingly.
“Yes, and not only that, but I expect to take a job in the fall that may take me far away from Chicago. It’s going to be awfully inconvenient, even if I don’t have to pay any money.”
They strolled along in silence for a little while, and Linda had a sudden desire to be back with her other friends. This Englishman was not so fascinating upon further acquaintance, and she longed for Dot. If she had a chance to talk to her about the telegram, she would feel better. Dot always had such wonderful suggestions.
Lord Dudley, however, had one to offer.
“Why don’t you try to buy the woman off, Miss Carlton?” he asked.
“What for?” she demanded, angrily.
“Oh, say for about twenty-five thousand—maybe less, if she’d take it. It would save you a lot of time and worry, and maybe money in the end. You may be telling the truth, but how’s a judge to know that, if the other people have a witness?”
Linda drew herself up proudly. She was actually beginning to dislike the man.
“I wouldn’t think of it!” she exclaimed. “That would be the same as admitting that I was guilty. No, thank you—I’d rather fight.”
Looking ahead of her, she suddenly spied Ralph sitting alone on a bench beside the lake. He was probably furious with her for going off with this stranger, and all of a sudden she saw his point of view. Who was Lord Dudley anyhow, to step in between them like this?
“I’ll race you to that bench!” she challenged, abruptly. “Ralph looks lonely.”
“I’m too old to run,” he replied, smiling. “But you go along. I really must be getting back to the Inn. We’re leaving soon—” He hesitated, and held out his hand. “It’s good-by, now, Miss Carlton. I’m sailing for England early next week. I don’t suppose I’ll see you again till you come there on one of your flights.”
“Good-by, Lord Dudley,” she replied. “But don’t expect me soon! I’ve been across the Atlantic you know, and next time I’ll be flying the Pacific.”
Linda spent Monday morning inspecting her autogiro and making some minor repairs in preparation for her flight back to Green Falls. She did not tell her aunt that she and Dot were planning to stop at the empty house, for she did not want to worry the good woman. If everything went well, she ought to be home before supper.
Dot had persuaded Bert Keen to return the airplane which she had flown in the race, and she took the precaution of packing some sandwiches and some fruit in the autogiro. On an adventure like this, you never could tell what would happen.
“I hope that Mike O’Malley is there when we arrive,” she remarked, as, early in the afternoon, she and Linda climbed into the “Ladybug.”
“So do I,” agreed Linda. “But I am not counting on him. I have my own tools, and—guess what?”
“What?” demanded her companion.
“I’ve been practicing picking locks! We won’t need a ladder, after all! I’m quite good at it. I think I’d make a first-class burglar.”
“That’s some accomplishment!”
“It really is. And you never can tell when it will come in handy. If some child were locked in a burning house, or some old woman with heart disease had a spell in the bath tub——”
“Now, Linda!” protested her companion. “So you really think that you can get into that house?”
“Without a doubt. And it’s going to be lots of fun.”
“Yes—maybe. Suppose there really is a ghost in the tower, Linda! You know you do read of such things——”
In spite of her gayety, Linda shivered. The memory of that ghastly face at the window was still vivid to her.
“It won’t be so bad if we go together,” she replied. “And there must be some explanation of that queer apparition.”
The day was beautiful and clear, and the sun shining; amidst all this loveliness the girls could not believe in ghosts. Dismissing the gruesome subject from their minds, they gave their attention to the country over which they were passing. Linda was flying low in the hope that she might identify the spot where the accident had occurred. She wanted to see how far it really was from the house which Helen Tower believed to have been her home.
It was Dot who spied it first—the big oak in the field, where they had landed to offer help to the injured girl. A moment later they saw the road, winding as it did over the hill, from whence that gray car had so suddenly and so disastrously appeared.
Dot marked the spot on the map which she held in her lap and Linda flew on towards the house with the tower. About three miles beyond they caught a glimpse of it through the trees.
They flew across in front of the house, over a big field which had evidently once been a lawn, but which was now overgrown with weeds and tall grass, but Linda decided not to land there. It was too conspicuous a place to leave the “Ladybug,” in case anyone came along. Instead she came down behind the barn as before, the girls walked around to the front of the house, by the side away from the kitchen. Linda carried her tool kit—“just like an ordinary robber,” she remarked—and they climbed the wooden porch steps to the front door.
“Wait!” whispered Dot, in awe. “I hear an awfully queer sound!”
Both girls stood motionless and listened. A dull, rasping noise reached their ears, which continued with monotonous regularity, now and then changing to a squeak.
“The ghost!” breathed Dot.
“No,” replied Linda. “It’s some animal—or possibly a human being. We better knock on the door before I start to pick the lock. If Mrs. Fishberry is here, she’d jump at the chance to have us arrested.”
Raising her hand, Dot thumped loudly on the door. A reply instantly came to them.
“Linda! Oh, Linda!” a girl’s voice screamed.
“It’s Amy—I mean Helen!” exclaimed Linda, breathlessly. “Just what I was afraid of! That woman locked her in!”
“But what could be the point of torturing the child?” demanded Dot.
“I don’t know. That’s for us to find out.” She lifted her voice. “Amy!” she cried, at the top of her lungs.
“Here I am—around the back!” yelled the girl.
In excited haste Linda and Dot ran down the steps and around the side of the house. There at the kitchen window, from whose panes the glass had been broken, stood the girl, patiently cutting away at the woodwork with a dull carving knife.
Both girls ran up and kissed her through the broken window.
“I heard the plane, and I was hoping it was you!” said Helen.
“Are you all right?” demanded Linda, almost afraid to ask. She dreaded to think what confinement in this ghastly house might have done to the nervous girl.
“I’m fine,” replied the other. “Only I’m a prisoner. But I was going to work my way out.”
“Are you alone?”
“Yes. Mrs. Fishberry locked me in and ran away on Saturday.”
“Oh, you poor girl!” cried Linda. “And are you starved to death?”
“No. I had oatmeal and water and dried lima beans. Really, I’m all right. And Linda—I remember everything!”
“Honestly?”
“Yes. You can call me Helen now—that really is my right name. I’ll tell you all about it when I get out of here.”
“I’ll get you out,” replied Linda. “I’ll pick the lock on the front door, and on your inside door.”
“Can you really? Is there anything you can’t do, Miss Linda Carlton?”
Linda laughed; it was wonderful to find the girl in such good spirits.
“You stay here, Dot,” she said, “and keep Amy—I mean Helen—company. I won’t be long.”
She was right in her surmise; the job did not take long, and she was extremely proud of her new accomplishment. In less than half an hour she opened the heavy door and stepped into the dimly-lighted house. The huge square hall, with its great staircase, the closed shutters, the sparsely furnished rooms cast a gloomy atmosphere. It was just the sort of house a ghost might be expected to haunt.
By means of her flashlight she made her way through the hall to the door where she supposed the kitchen to be. She knocked loudly, calling,
“Yo-ho, girls!”
“Yo, Linda!” was the reassuring reply.
But here it was not necessary to pick the lock, for Mrs. Fishberry had left the key in the door. So Linda merely turned it and walked into the room.