"I've Got the Spook," Shouted Bab Triumphantly."I've Got the Spook," Shouted Bab Triumphantly.
After a time the marshmallows began to takeon a bitter taste. He did not appear to be eating them with the same relish as before.
"That stuff's no good for men," he jeered.
"Have another, Tommy," answered Bab, thrusting a blue flame into the boy's face.
"You needn't burn a fellow up," he rebuked, then swallowed the marshmallow with a gulp.
"Here, Tommy, is a nice, large one," added Mollie.
Tom's eyes were rolling. His face that had appeared very red when he first sat down before the fire, had grown several shades paler. The girls continued to feed him with marshmallows, forcing one after another upon him.
"I won't take another——" Tom did not finish what he had started to say. Olive thrust a hot marshmallow into the boy's open mouth. Tommy closed his mouth instantly, but not soon enough. The hot sweet clung to the roof of his mouth, bringing from Tommy a yell of pain.
"I'll be even with you girls for this," he howled, the tears starting from his eyes as he bounded for the kitchen for a drink of water. A shout of merry laughter followed him. Tommy felt very sick and staggered off to bed, where, half an hour later, his mother found him groaning. In response to Mrs. Presby's anxious inquiries, Tommy explained that he had an "awful stomachache."
"He deserved it," declared Olive. "He will learn to let us girls alone, I hope. Nevertheless, we got even with him this time."
"Yes, revenge is sweet," observed Bab, whereat the girls groaned dismally.
It had been decided that the "Automobile Girls" and Olive were to drive into Chicago on the following morning to bring Miss Sallie and Mr. Stuart also to Treasureholme, if he could be induced to return with them. Ruth felt too that Mr. A. Bubble had not been getting enough exercise of late. Her companions agreed with her. But the next morning dawned most disappointingly. A great gale was blowing in from Lake Michigan, accompanied by blinding flurries of snow. It was not a cheerful outlook. The day was dark and the wind bitter cold.
Ruth was for starting out just the same, but a telephone call from Miss Sallie while the girls were at breakfast was to the effect that Mr. Stuart had absolutely forbidden their starting out in such a storm.
"I am sorry, girls, but when dad puts it that way he means what he says. I speak from long experience," declared Ruth. "We shall have to wait until to-morrow."
"This storm is likely to last for some days," announced Mr. Presby.
Ruth made a wry face.
"We will explore for the treasure if we have to stay in the house all the time," said Bab. "A day like this makes one feel mysterious."
"And creepy," added Mollie. "Why, good morning, Tommy. How are you to-day?" she smiled, as Master Thomas Presby took his place at the breakfast table. Tommy grunted out some unintelligible reply. For some reason he was not in the best of humor that morning.
In the meantime Olive was trying to think up some entertainment that would amuse the girls on a stormy day.
"I have it," she cried. "How would you girls like an attic party?"
They did not quite understand, never having heard of an attic party.
"What do we do at an attic party?" asked Mollie. "Do we have luncheon in the attic?"
"No. It is an entirely new idea with me. My idea is that we go to the attic and rummage. There are old chests and trunks up there, together with all sorts of odds and ends, as is usual with a family garret."
The girls beamed on her.
"That will be perfectly splendid," cried Mollie. "Remember, Bab, how we used to rummage in our garret on rainy days?"
"It will be a great fun," answered Bab.
"As we fear we may have to leave the old place," continued Olive, "we wish to overhaul everything up there, burning such stuff as we have no use for, saving anything that may be of use in the future. You girls can help me clear out the place."
"Am I in on this game?" interrupted Tom.
"Yes, if you will behave yourself," replied Olive, giving him a severe look.
"I can carry out the stuff that you want burned," he suggested.
Such willingness on the part of Tommy was unusual. Olive gave him a smile of approval.
"You shall have some more marshmallows for that," declared Ruth.
A pained look appeared on the boy's face.
"I don't want any marshmallows," he growled. "No more girls' food for me."
The "Automobile Girls" giggled. Mr. and Mrs. Presby paid no attention to this conversation. They were not in possession of the secret. The girls were eager for the attic party. There is always an element of mystery in an old family garret. This was especially so at Treasureholme. Everything about the old place savored of mystery. Then there was the buried treasure, which, even though it might be a myth, lent an atmosphere of greater mystery than all the rest.
Little time was lost in getting to the garret, the girls first, however, putting on the oldest skirts they possessed. Olive explained that the place was full of dust and cobwebs.
Tom hurried upstairs ahead of them. They followed a winding, narrow stairway to the upper floor. To their surprise, the ceiling was high, the side walls were heavily wainscoted, an unusual condition for a garret. A broad chimney passing up through the centre of the big room took the edge off the chill atmosphere of the morning, although they could hear the wind whistle and wail about the gables. There were shadowy corners holding old-fashioned trunks. Here and there were old family pictures in faded, chipped frames, old clothes, curtains, books, broken and old-fashioned furniture, in short, a varied and ancient collection of odds and ends that almost filled the place.
"Oh, girls, isn't this jolly!" exclaimed Bab, halting at the head of the stairs, taking in the scene eagerly. "I know we shall have a perfectly splendid time up here, and who knows but that we may unearth some of your ancestors' family skeletons, Olive?"
"Tom will dispose of them promptly if you find any," answered Olive.
"I'll make their old bones rattle. You just watch me," announced Tom.
"Now, girls, go ahead and browse to your heart's content. We are going to empty every trunk and chest and box in the place. We may find something exciting before we get through up here."
Olive's prophecy was a true one. They were going to meet with exciting experiences in the old garret, even more exciting than any of them had dreamed possible. They began eagerly to turn out the contents of trunks and boxes upon the garret floor, first dragging the receptacles up where the light from one or another of the windows would shine down on their work.
"OH, here's a bundle of letters, ever and ever so old!" called Grace. Hers was the first find of interest, "Wouldn't it be splendid if I had unearthed an old romance?"
"Give them to Olive," suggested Bab. "We have no right to read them."
Grace promptly handed the packet to Olive, who turned them over reflectively.
"The writers of these have been dead for many, many years. There can be no harm in our reading the letters. However, let's defer that pleasure until another time. Here, Tom, you might carry out those old clothes. They are so moth-eaten that they are likely to fall apart before you can get them outside." Tom reluctantly gathered up an armful and went stamping down the garret stairs.
Old clothes, trinkets, some of them of value, recipes for cooking, written on the fly leaves of books and on scraps of paper, a varied assortment of everything, including early photographs of forgotten persons, were discovered. Everything was assorted and placed in piles forfuture disposal. The girls' faces and hands were covered with dust long before they had gone through the contents of the first few trunks.
Nothing of unusual interest had been discovered after something more than an hour's rummaging. Tom had made so many trips to the back yard with rubbish that he was tired. Finally he rebelled, declaring that he wouldn't tramp up and down those stairs again for the whole of Treasureholme.
Ruth found a chest of books in very old bindings. She called Bab over.
"Here, dear. You are simply crazy over old books. Here are some that will keep you busy for the rest of the morning."
Bab ran over, and with a little chuckle of delight dropped down on her knees in front of the open chest. She lifted out the ancient bindings almost reverently, ran the pages through her fingers, pausing here and there to read a line or a page, or a faded notation in pencil, then carefully piled the books by the side of the chest. She was so wholly absorbed in the contents of the chest that she failed to hear the lively chatter going on about her.
About half way down in the chest she found a thin, leather-covered volume, showing indications of long usage and much thumbing. On the front page she read, "Journal of T. W. P."
"Olive, who was 'T. W. P.'?"
"'T. W. P.'? Why that's Tom's initials. Wait! Did you find that in one of those old books?"
Bab nodded.
"Then it must refer to Thomas Warrington Presby. He is the gentleman who is supposed to have been scalped by the Indians, the man who buried the treasure that we have had all the fuss and excitement about. What is the book?"
"It is his journal. His diary, I think we would call it. May I read it?"
"Of course. I hope you may find something interesting in it."
The reading of the diary was not easy. The ink was faded and the writing was so peculiar that Bab deciphered it with some difficulty. Bab curled up on a pile of old clothes under a window and buried her nose in the old diary. She found it fascinating to read the diary of the man who actually buried the treasure that had made the name of Treasureholme well known in all that part of the country.
The entries in the diary dealt with the routine affairs of the life of the owner. Then there were other and more absorbing passages. One that made the girl's pulses quicken was the following:
"Rumors of Indian troubles are afloat. Jake was wounded by an arrow to-day, shot from somewhere in the forest back of the house. But no Indians were seen. We shall soon have to seek safety in the fort, I fear. What to do with my worldly goods when we go is the question that is troubling me now."
"Oh!" breathed Barbara.
"Does it blow hot or cold?" questioned Olive.
"It seems to be getting warm," replied Bab. "He is talking about the treasure."
"What?" The girls were on their feet in an instant. Barbara read the entry to them.
"Oh, fiddle!" sniffed Mollie. "That doesn't amount to anything. Don't arouse my curiosity again unless you have something worth while."
Barbara considered that she had found something worth while, but she made no comment on Mollie's remark. Instead, the girl returned to her perusal of the old diary, reading each page carefully, not knowing when a word or a sentence might give a clue to the mystery all were seeking to solve. The girls went on with their rummaging and their lively chatter. Tom had gone to sleep on a heap of bed spreads that were yellow with age. The ghosts of the past did not trouble this healthy young country boy. Mollie crouched down beside him, gently tickling his ear with a feather that she had found ina trunk. Mollie nearly exploded with merriment to see Tommy fight an imaginary fly in his sleep. The other girls were soon attracted to the game, though Barbara was entirely oblivious of what was going on. The girls gathered noiselessly about Mollie and Tom, shaking with silent laughter, taking care not to awaken the sleeping boy.
Tom's face twitched nervously. After a little one eye opened ever so little then closed warily. The girls did not observe the movement of the eyelid. Then all of a sudden things began to happen. Tom, with incredible quickness, leaped to his feet, and began laying about him with a folded bed spread. Mollie was the first to go down under the attack. The others tried to get away from that sturdily wielded spread, but were not quick enough, however. Tom did considerable execution with his unwieldly weapon before the girls finally threw themselves upon him. Then Tom went down and out. The girls dragged him to the stairway and started him sliding down the stairs, feet first. With faces flushed, eyes sparkling, brushing truant wisps of hair from their foreheads, the girls returned to their exploration of the old chests. First Olive closed and locked the door that opened onto the staircase.
"There! I think we shall have peace now," she announced.
Suddenly Barbara uttered a sharp little cry.
"Girls! Girls! Come here! Oh, come here!"
The girls with one accord rushed pell-mell across the garret. Excitement reigned for a few seconds.
"I've found it! I've found it!" shouted Barbara.
"Found the treasure?" cried a chorus of voices.
"It's here, here!" she exclaimed, waving the little leather-bound journal above her head.
"What have you found?" demanded Olive, showing less excitement than her companions.
"This entry. It means something. I don't know just what, but I know it means something."
"Read it, read it!" demanded the girls.
"The item is a month later than the one I found in the journal in which they were afraid the Indians were going to make trouble. Listen to this. If you don't think I have found something you are not half so smart as I had thought." Barbara hitched a little closer to the window and with her back to the light read from the journal the following entry:
"'To My Heirs: I am fleeing with my family, to the fort. The future looks dark. Should I not return, others of my family one day willcome here and take possession, provided the savages do not destroy the old place, which is not probable, as the spirit of a long dead Indian chief is said to make his home here.'"
"I knew all the time there were ghosts here," interrupted Mollie.
"Wearing false faces," added Grace under her breath.
"There are further directions. 'Search and you shall find. I cannot be more explicit save to say that what is here is well worth years of endeavor,'" Barbara read on. "'I have a feeling that I shall see the old place no more. Remember, that to every people its own dead are sacred and be governed accordingly.'"
Barbara glanced slowly up at the solemn faces above her.
"Is that all?" asked Olive.
"Yes. That is the last entry in the journal, showing that the former Mr. Presby did not return, as you already have told us that he did not."
"What do you make of it, dear?" questioned Olive thoughtfully.
"It is a clue and a direction to the buried treasure. There can be no doubt of that."
"Yes, but we don't understand it," spoke up Ruth. "I doubt if we ever shall."
"It's my opinion that Mr. T. W. P. wasn't inhis right mind when he wrote that," declared Mollie with emphasis. "I think the Indians must have gone to his head."
"This is no joking matter, Mollie," rebuked Barbara. "Can't you be serious for once in your life? We must study this."
"What do you say if I send for Mr. Stevens, girls?" cried Olive. "He has studied this mystery more thoroughly than anyone else and he will no doubt understand the veiled allusion to the treasure. Suppose we copy it so we can read it more easily. Wait! I'll get a pencil."
Olive ran downstairs to her room, now not a little excited.
"I've sent Tom after Bob Stevens," she called, as she burst into the attic on her return. "Now read it to me and I will put it down."
"Perhaps I had better do that," answered Bab, reaching for the pencil. "I know the writing better than you do and I want to make the copy exactly like the original. There," she added, after having carefully copied the extract from the journal.
Olive regarded it perplexedly, Grace, Mollie and Ruth bending over her shoulder as she read and reread the extract from the old Presby diary.
"I must show this to father and mother," exclaimed Olive suddenly, as she whisked outof the room with Ruth, Mollie and Grace racing after her. Barbara, once more absorbed in the journal over which she was bending with wrinkled forehead, did not seem to realize that she had been left alone.
"Oh, if it should be true! If it should lead us to the treasure! If we could save Treasureholme for the Presbys it would be glorious." Barbara got up and began pacing back and forth. She saw nothing of the dingy garret room. Her imagination was traveling at express-train speed. Bab stood leaning back against the heavy wainscoting, with her eyes fixed on the ceiling, thinking.
"Oh, Barbara!" called Ruth's voice from the foot of the stairway.
"Yes?"
"Come down. Mercy! What was that?" A mighty crash shook the old house to its foundations. The shock seemed to come from above. Ruth sped up the stairs on winged feet. Those below stairs heard her utter a frightened scream.
"Come! Oh, come quickly!" cried Ruth Stuart in a voice of terror.
THE sound of running feet was heard on the floor below following Ruth's cry for help. Olive, Mollie and Grace had heard it from the foot of the stairs on the ground floor. Mr. and Mrs. Presby, sitting in the dining room, had also heard the cry and started for the stairs. Tom, who was down in the cellar, heard the girls running, and started up the stairs three steps at a time, instinctively realizing that something was wrong. His first thought was that the girls in the garret had set the house on fire.
The three girls fairly tore up the stairs to the attic in response to Ruth's cry, getting in each other's way on the narrow stairs as they ran. Tom was close at their heels, while his father and mother followed more slowly.
At first they could distinguish nothing but Ruth's figure dimly outlined in a haze of dust that filled the air.
"Fire!" cried Grace.
"No!" roared Tom. "It's dust. Somebody's been kicking up a fine smudge here. What's the matter? Have you folks gone crazy?"
"Ruth! Ruth! What is it?" cried Olive.
"It's Bab," moaned Ruth.
"Bab?" cried the girls.
For the first time since reaching the attic their thoughts turned to Barbara Thurston. But where was she? Nowhere in sight. Mr. Presby came limping into the room, followed by his wife very much out of breath.
"Wha—wha—what is the cause of all this uproar?" demanded Mr. Presby testily.
"It's Bab! It's Bab, I tell you," almost screamed Ruth. "Oh, what has happened?"
"That's what we would like to know," retorted Mr. Presby.
"Where is Bab?" demanded Tom, who had been nosing around the room like a terrier.
"She—she's gone," moaned Ruth. Her face was pale, her eyes wide with fright. Tom rushed to the windows, which were tightly closed.
"What fell?" he questioned sharply, halting in front of Ruth.
"I—I don't know. I—I wasn't here. I was at the foot of the garret stairs when I heard that terrible crash."
The dust, slowly settling, gave them a clearer view of the attic. Barbara Thurston was not in sight.
"What has become of Bab? Why don't youlook behind the chests?" demanded Mollie, gathering up her skirts, darting here and there, kicking aside the heaps of old clothing that had been turned out on the floor.
Mollie paused with a dazed look in her eyes.
"She's gone," whispered the girl.
"Yes, she's gone, all right," answered Tom. "I know what she has done. She's played a trick on all of you. I know her. She is a sharp one. She'd catch you napping when you were looking right at her. She must have gone downstairs after you did, and——"
"No, no," protested Ruth excitedly. "She never left this attic by the stairway."
"Calm yourself, my dear," begged Mr. Presby in a somewhat more gentle voice, at the same time laying a hand on Ruth Stuart's shoulder. "Now let us understand this affair. You say Barbara was up here—she did not go downstairs with you?"
"No, no!" exclaimed Mollie. "She was reading that old journal when we went down. We left her sitting right there. Don't you remember, you asked us to call Barbara downstairs? You wanted to see the diary of old Mr. Presby, and Ruth went upstairs to call her."
"Yes, yes. Ruth, how do you know that Barbara was here when you called to her?"
"Because she answered me," replied Ruth.
"What next? Did her voice sound as if she were here in the attic?"
"Yes. I know she was here."
"Was that when you cried out?"
"No. That awful crash came a few seconds after she had answered me. I ran up here as fast as my feet would carry me. At first the dust was so thick I was unable to make out anything clearly. I called to Bab but she did not answer me. I then ran about the room in search of her, thinking that she had fallen and hurt herself. But she wasn't here," wailed Ruth. "Oh, what shall I do?"
"Calm yourself. That is the first thing to be done. There is something mysterious about this. I wish Bob Stevens were here."
"I sent Tom for him. Did you see Mr. Stevens, Tom?"
"No. I sent word by one of the hired hands," admitted Tom sheepishly. "I—I wanted to do some work in the cellar."
"Then go at once," commanded Mr. Presby sternly.
"Wait!" exclaimed Ruth. "I'll drive the car, storm or no storm. The cold air will help me to brace up. How far is it to Mr. Stevens' house?"
"Mile and a half," answered Tom.
"Come with me, Tommy. We will be thereand back in twenty minutes. Do you know the way?"
"Yes, he knows the way. He knows too much about everything in these parts," answered Mr. Presby testily. "I will telephone to Mr. Stuart."
"Oh, don't, please. At least—not un—until I get back. Per—perhaps Mr. Stevens may find her."
"He will, if anyone can," declared Olive. Everyone in the room was overwhelmed with the mystery of it all. That a person could disappear so completely from a room that had only one entrance and with that entrance guarded at the moment passed all comprehension.
Once more Mollie set herself to examining every nook and corner of the room. She even raised the lids of the closed trunks and chests, thinking that possibly Barbara might have hidden in one of them. There was no trace whatever of the missing girl.
"Has anyone found the diary?" questioned Olive.
"Could it be that she fell through a trap in the floor?" queried Grace.
"There are no traps in the floor," answered Mr. Presby sharply.
"If there were, and Bab had fallen in, she would have dropped into one of our rooms,"explained Olive. "I believe I will go all over the house," she decided as an afterthought.
"We will go with you," declared Grace. "Oh, Bab, Bab; where are you?" Grace broke into a paroxysm of heart-breaking sobs. This was too much for Mollie, who began sobbing also.
"Come, come, girls; this won't do," chided Olive. "We must keep our heads clear. Something has happened to Bab, but I'll venture to say that she is all right, no matter where she is."
"But—but if sheisall right, why doesn't she call to us?" questioned Mollie, gazing at Olive through her tears.
Olive was unable to answer that question. The same thought had occurred to her. Now Mr. Presby began thumping the sides of the room with his cane. They understood his purpose and waited in breathless silence until he had gone all the way around the room.
"All sounds alike," he announced. "I didn't know but there might be another of those secret passages up here. I see, however, that it is not possible. Come, there is nothing to be gained by remaining here. Come, Mollie. Do not take it too much to heart," soothed Mr. Presby.
Mollie was now leaning against the wall with head buried in her arms, crying softly. Theothers had started for the stairway. A servant came up the stairs and announced that Ruth had telephoned from the Stevens place saying that Bob Stevens had gone to Brightwaters, and that she was going there to find him.
"Good gracious! What was that?" screamed Mrs. Presby, gripping her husband's arm with both hands as a mighty crash shook the building. A violent current of air smote them, another cloud of suffocating dust filled the air.
"Mollie's gone, too!" screamed Grace Carter.
FOR a moment the little group stood regarding one another in horror-stricken silence, then by common consent they all made for the stairway. Mr. Presby was half carrying, half dragging his wife, who was in a state of collapse. All had lost their heads completely. They did not know at what moment that terrible mysterious force might whisk them all out of existence. Instead of remaining calmly to solve the reason for Mollie's disappearance before their very eyes, all hands were fleeing from the scene of the double disaster. Mollie had not even cried out. She had simply gone, followed by that mighty crash. That was all they knew about it.
They did not halt until they had reached the ground floor, where Mr. Presby called a servant to summon the neighbors and summon them quickly. Fifteen minutes later the neighbors began to arrive. With them were two or three strangers, whose offers to join in the search through the house Mr. Presby politely declined, as he was suspicious of all strangers. Those of the neighbors who were friends oflong standing were given free rein to search the house and grounds as thoroughly as they wished. They took full advantage of the opportunity, delving into every nook and corner.
In the meantime Ruth Stuart with the shivering Tommy by her side was driving her automobile across the country. There was no storm curtain in place now. Even the wind shield had been turned down because the snow clouded it so Ruth could not get a clear sight ahead. As it was, she could see no more than a rod or two in advance. She took the storm full on the right side of her face. The girl's eyes and nerves were steady now. Her touch on the steering wheel was light, for at that speed a heavy hand might have ditched the outfit.
Country people on the road were startled by a rush of wind and a shadowy monster shooting past them with a snort, occasionally sending their horses off the highway in frightened leaps. But Ruth Stuart's eyes never wavered from the straight path ahead. Evidently she had forgotten her promise to herself to drive with her car under more perfect control. Every ounce of speed that Mr. A. Bubble possessed was being used on the present run.
Tommy's eyes were full of snow, his lips were blue, his hands were gripping the cushions until he had no feeling left in them.
"Tell me when we get near to the place," commanded Ruth in a sharp, incisive tone.
"Ju-s-s-st around the nu-nu-next turn," chattered Thomas. "He's at Martin's ranch."
Ruth turned the air into her siren. A wild,weirdwail rose from the horn. Tommy shivered more than ever. That sound always did make the hair rise right up on the crown of his head. Ruth kept the siren going. Rounding the bend at top speed, her siren wailing, she made enough noise to be plainly heard above the storm. Taking careful note of her position, she ran up the drive into the yard, slowing down just as she saw two men come from the house bare-headed.
"Jump in, quick!" she cried to Bob Stevens. "Trouble!"
Bob was quick-witted. He understood that something was wrong. He caught one of the canopy braces and swung himself in over the closed door.
The car was still in motion. Without a word of further explanation, Ruth advanced her spark. When they rounded into the road the snow from the skidding rear wheels flew up into the air higher than the peak of Jud Martin's hip-roofed barn. Stevens instinctively gripped the automobile body.
"Put a blanket over your head," called back Ruth.
"I can stand it bare-headed here, if you can keep your seat in this cold wind up ahead," answered Stevens calmly. "What is it?"
"I'll tell you when you get there. I haven't time now."
Bob asked no further questions. They were racing back to Treasureholme at a rate of speed that would have left the Pacific Coast Limited some distance to the rear in a very short time.
Boom! A report like that of a cannon startled Tommy. Boom! Another similar report and Tom was on the verge of leaping from the car.
"Tire's gone. Rear tire's down," called Stevens. Ruth nodded, but he could not see that she reduced the speed of the car in the slightest degree. Bob Stevens never had had such a ride as that, even on a railroad train, but he declined to give in to his inclination to warn her to slow down. If a young woman had the nerve to drive a car at that speed he surely should have sufficient pluck to ride behind her.
Tommy had tightened his grip on the cushion. His body was swaying from side to side, now and then humping up into the air as the wheels passed over a hummock.
"I shall go on as long as the rims hold," flung back Ruth in acknowledgment of his warning about the tires.
The young man knew very well that the rimswere likely to be crunched in like egg shells at any second. That would mean the complete wreck of the car and no doubt the instant death of the passengers at the speed they were now traveling. The soft, springy snow that covered the ground protected the rims from the hard road somewhat. He observed, however, that in rounding sharp turns in the road, Ruth steadied the car with her foot brake. She was driving with great skill, even though the pace was a reckless one. Bob gazed at the back of her head, a great admiration for her pluck welling up within him. But he felt sorry for Tommy. It was plainly to be seen that Thomas Warrington Presby was not having the happiest ride imaginable.
"Almost there," encouraged Ruth. "If anything happens, never mind me, but run for the house as fast as you can go."
He did not answer, but he was thinking deeply. Something of a very serious nature must have occurred at Treasureholme to make necessary all this haste. He did not know that they had sent for him because of the great confidence the Presbys reposed in him. It would have made little difference to the resourceful Bob Stevens if he had known.
The car lurched into the drive, past the scene of Ruth's previous disaster, where the brokenposts and twisted gates still lay at one side of the drive. None of the occupants of the car heeded these evidences of a former smash-up. Ruth's eyes were on the drive. Bob's eyes were on the house, while Tommy's eyes were so full of snow that they weren't fixed on anything in particular.
The car came to a jolting stop in front of the Presby home. At that instant the rear of the car settled with a crunching sound.
"There go the rims," said Ruth calmly. "But I don't care now. Please hurry."
Bob lifted Tommy to the ground, the boy being on the side that Stevens had leaped from just as the rims were going down. He then assisted Ruth out. Tommy rubbed the snow from his eyes, blinked rapidly and gazed at Ruth.
"Never no more for mine," he declared, with ungrammatical force.
Ruth tried to run up the steps. She halted suddenly. Her body swayed unsteadily. Stevens thought she was going to collapse. He took firm hold of her arm.
"Let me assist you," he said politely.
"I—I am all right," muttered Ruth. "Just a little dizzy from watching the road so closely," then she crumpled up on the steps of Treasureholme.
Bob Stevens picked her up and carried thegirl into the house, followed by Tom, still blinking. Tom was choking a little, too. Everything had been moving so rapidly that, active as was his mind, he hadn't been able to follow matters very clearly.
The door swung open. Bob handed his burden over to Mrs. Presby.
"She's played out. Better put her to bed. What's wrong?"
"No, no, no!" protested Ruth. "Give me a drink of something hot. I—I'm chilled through." She staggered to one side of the hall, waved assistance aside and leaned against the wall with closed eyes for a few seconds. Then Ruth straightened up suddenly.
"Bab! Have they found her?" she cried.
Mrs. Presby shook her head. Grace came running down the hall. She threw herself into Ruth's arms.
"Oh, Ruth! Mollie's gone, too!" she sobbed.
"What's this?" demanded Stevens. "Tell me quickly what has occurred."
Mrs. Presby told him very briefly all that she knew about the series of disasters that had befallen them. The hall was fairly well filled with neighbors, all more or less helpless. With bulging eyes and open mouths, they were listening and gaping without doing anything on their own account.
Bob dashed toward the stairs without asking another question. Neighbors, the Presbys and the three girls followed him. Mr. Presby was the last in line. He thumped up the stairs with the aid of his stick. Bob had halted near the door of the attic, where he stood surveying the room with critical eyes.
"Get lights! It's dark here," he directed sharply. "Now tell me just what occurred as far as you know, please. Who discovered the loss of Miss Thurston and her sister?"
Ruth told him what she knew of Bab's disappearance. Olive related the story of how Mollie had suddenly vanished.
"They certainly didn't vanish into thin air. They are still in this house and I am going to find them, even if I have to tear the house down, with Mr. Presby's permission, of course."
"Get the girls. Go as far as you like. Tear down the old house if you must. I shall not have use for it very much longer."
Bob groped about on the floor. His hands found a broken stove poker. With this he began sounding the walls about waist high, thumping and listening, listening and thumping. He paused suddenly.
"Where was Miss Mollie standing when you last saw her?" he demanded, turning to the group.
"There on the south side," answered Olive.
"Something has been there against the wall for some time, hasn't there? I see a mark on the wall."
"I don't recall whether or not there was anything there," answered Mr. Presby.
"Yes, there was an old dresser there. I moved it aside to-day to get some things that had fallen behind it. We were cleaning out the garret. That's the dresser over yonder," Olive informed him.
The young man did not look at the piece of furniture indicated by Miss Presby. Instead, he strode over to the point where the dresser had stood for no one knew how long. It was a dresser belonging to some of the Presby ancestors. It never had been disturbed during the present owner's occupancy.
Stevens began thumping over every inch of the wall at that point. He varied his investigations finally by trying the wainscoting on either side. The latter to his keen ears gave out a different sound. He turned sharply.
"Bring me a maul, if you have one."
Mr. Presby directed one of the farm hands to bring one from the woodshed. In the meantime the others in the attic watched in breathless silence as Stevens pursued his investigations.
"You haven't heard them call or cry out?"
"No," answered Olive.
Ruth had said scarcely a word. She had appeared to be crushed upon hearing of Mollie's disappearance. She had answered questions briefly and with apparent great effort. But now her eyes were following every movement of Bob Stevens.
A commotion on the stairs caused Bob to stride over to the door. It was the man with the maul, a heavy tool used for driving fence posts and other similar work. Bob took it from him and started for the place where the dresser had formerly stood. He halted just before reaching his objective point. The others in the chamber were crowding about him.
"I would suggest that you people stand back," he said. "We don't know what might happen. I might loose my grip on the maul. I don't want to injure anyone."
The "people" shrank back out of the way.
"I'm going to do some damage, Mr. Presby. At least I think I am."
Richard Presby nodded.
Bob stepped close to the wall, moved back three or four feet, then slowly swung the maul in a circle and let drive with all the force at his command against the side of the wall. The maul landed with a tremendous report.
A most remarkable thing followed, sending the occupants of the room rushing for the staircase, the women uttering cries of alarm. Bob staggered backwards and sat down heavily on the floor. His experiment had been attended with greater success than he had even dreamed were possible. It had been followed by a terrific crash. A cloud of dust filled the room, the structure vibrated as if from a slight earthquake shock, then quiet once more settled over the gloomy attic of Treasureholme.
BOB was on his feet again ere the dust had settled in the room.
"Don't be alarmed," he cried. "There is no danger so long as you keep away from that partition. That is where the trouble lies."
"Where—where is the hammer?" cried Grace.
Stevens stepped forward and looked for the maul on the floor near the baseboard, but finally glanced up with a perplexed expression in his eyes.
"The maul has disappeared, too," he said.
There was a gasp following this announcement. But the young man was not disturbed.
"I understand a little of what all this means," he said. "The maul has gone. If someone will get me an axe I will chop down this partition near where I struck it with the maul."
"Is there some secret there?" whispered Mr. Presby over Bob's shoulder. The young man nodded.
"Yes. I have an idea what it is. However, we shall see."
When the axe was brought he chose his location with some care, then began chopping away, swinging the axe in a manner that showed him to be no novice at that sort of work. The axe went through the partition soon after that. Using the back of the tool, he began smashing in the boards, here and there employing the blade to cut through a scantling or a brace. Soon after he had laid open a dark recess behind the partition.
Tom pushed forward and was about to crawl in when the young man stopped him.
"Better be careful, young man! That may be a pitfall, and I suspect that it is."
The others were too amazed to speak. Still another secret in the old house had been revealed. But the sudden disappearance of the maul was still unexplained, though Stevens had his own idea about this. He began cutting further. A tremendous crash followed a moment of chopping. He sprang back to await developments. There were none.
"There, I think I have drawn the monster's teeth," he said, reaching for a lantern. "One of you will please hold another lantern at the entrance here. I may need help."
Ruth Stuart snatched a lantern from one of the countrymen and stepped promptly up beside the young man. He nodded.
"Do not try to follow me in here unless I tell you to. I must first find out what is in here."
"Do you think they are there?" she asked in a half whisper.
"Yes. Probably below somewhere," he answered, thrusting the lantern ahead of him and crawling into the opening he had made.
Bob found himself in a narrow chamber formed by a gable that had been shut off and enclosed by the partition. He did not trouble himself at that moment to investigate the strangeness of the disappearance of his maul. Instead, he began going over the little room cautiously. The light from his lantern soon revealed a hole in the floor about a yard square.
"Don't lean against that partition on your life," he called. Those near the entrance to the gable apartment drew back a little. They gazed at the apparently solid wall to the left of the hole, in respectful silence. Bob lowered his lantern into the hole and peered in. It appeared to extend down a long distance. A trap door that evidently was intended to cover the opening, lay to one side of the opening. As he peered in he saw that the opening revealed a bricked-in shaft.
"A chimney, as I live!" he exclaimed. Then he raised his voice in a long-drawn shout.
"Hello-o-o down there!" There was no response. Stevens called again. A faint wail drifted up through the shaft. Ruth, at the panel, hearing it, uttered a scream of joy.
"They're there! They're there!" she cried.
For the first time since his arrival at the house, Bob Stevens showed traces of excitement in his face, but his voice was calm when he spoke.
"Get a rope, quickly. A long one," he commanded.
Ruth, Olive and Tommy crowded into the narrow opening, unable to restrain their impatience longer.
"Be careful," warned Bob. "This floor doesn't seem to be very strong."
The three held their ground, however.
"Hello-o-o down there! Are you hurt?"
They were unable to distinguish the words of the reply, but it evidently was made by Barbara.
"There's a ladder," exclaimed Tommy, starting to go down it. Stevens hauled him back.
"Keep out. It looks shaky. I am going down there myself. That's why I sent for a rope. I don't want to fall in, too. Men, I want you to stand by to lend a hand on the rope. Keep it fairly taut, but don't hold me back."
When all the arrangements had been made, Bob started down the ladder. He had gone notmore than four or five feet when he found that the ladder extended no further. It appeared to have been broken off. He called to the men to lower away. Finally his feet reached something soft. At first the horrified thought came to him that it was the body of one of the girls for whom he was in search. Instead, what he had found proved to be a piece of an old mattress with a bundle of old clothes heaped on it. This was something like seven feet from the opening through which he had descended.
He heard a moan from beneath the heap of old garments. He tore them feverishly aside. Mollie lay before him, pale and with eyes closed. Stevens uttered a shout.
"I've got Miss Mollie. She is injured. Stand by to pull her up when I give you the word," he directed in a tone of excitement. Quickly securing the rope under her arms, he bade them haul away, he lifting the girl as high as his arms would reach, then grasping her feet, lending such assistance as possible in this way. She was quickly in the arms of her friends, who bore her downstairs to her own room and set to work to revive her.
Now came the next stage of Bob Stevens' work. He could not imagine where Barbara could be. Just at this point he discovered a bend in the supposed chimney. This he decidedwas in order to avoid some obstruction on the second floor of the house. He found an opening in the platform scarcely large enough to admit his own broad shoulders. There, unmistakably was a ladder, made of thin strips of iron, bolted to the chimney itself.
"I'm going further down," he shouted to those above. "Don't pull unless I call upon you to do so. Are you down there, Miss Barbara?"
"Yes," came the answer. It sounded very far away. Bob knew that the young woman must be a great distance below him, or else there was another bend in the chimney that shut off the sound of her voice. Perhaps, too, there was another landing. One might expect to meet with anything in this house of mysteries.
"The other one is all right," yelled the young man to those above. "Keep up your courage, Miss Barbara. I will be with you as soon as I can get down. Can you climb up?"
"No." He did not catch what followed. Bob was climbing down the narrow ladder, prudently keeping the rope about his waist in case the ladder should give way. He carried the lantern with him on his descent, which he made with considerable caution. He feared that were he to dislodge a brick or a section of the ladder, it might fall on the girl below and seriously injureher. Why she should be so far below the narrow platform where he had found Mollie Thurston he did not pause to ask himself. The urgent work of the moment was to get Barbara out as quickly as possible.
"Is there no end to this?" muttered the young man. He figured that he must be somewhere in the vicinity of the cellar. Barbara's voice, now strong and clear, halted him suddenly.
"Be careful," she warned. "The ladder doesn't reach all the way down. You will fall if you don't step carefully."
"Where are you?" he cried. "Goodness, I'm glad to hear your voice! I feared you had been killed."
"I don't know how this happened. I am down here. That is all I can tell you about it."
Stevens had reached the end of the ladder by this time. He lowered his lantern, directing her to take it from the rope, then observing that he was not more than half a dozen feet from the bottom, he dropped lightly down beside her.
"Did you fall down here?" he asked.
"The last several feet I did," she answered. Bab was pale, but her eyes were bright.
"Then how did you get down this far? Didn't the landing stop you?" questioned the young man while looping the rope under Barbara's arms.
"Yes, the landing stopped me. I thought I surely had been killed, but after a little I pulled myself together and screamed for help. I guess no one heard me."
"They were excited. The house is in an uproar. Your sister is in the hands of her friends. I think she will be all right."
"My sister?" questioned Bab, opening her eyes wide.
"Yes. Didn't you know she fell in, too?"
"Tell me—was she—how did it happen?" demanded Bab, all in one voice. "Oh, it was awful! Mollie fell in, you say?"
"Yes. I got her out with the help of the others. You haven't answered my question. Why did you come on down here?"
"I thought there might be an opening at the bottom. This chimney was intended to be used for climbing. Hurry. I want to see Mollie."
Barbara was in a fever of excitement. She could not see why she shouldn't climb the rope. Stevens advised her to calm herself, saying that when she reached the ladder she might climb, but not to cast off the rope.
"When you reach the top tell them to lower the rope again, so I can get out."
Barbara suddenly collected herself.
"Oh, forgive me for my thoughtlessness. You go on up. I can come later."
Bob Stevens merely smiled, then raised his voice in a shout to the men to pull up. He lifted Bab up with apparent ease, for he was a muscular young man. The rope began to move up slowly. He helped Barbara until she had reached the ladder, then after seeing her safely on her way, and when she was no longer visible, the young man picked up his lantern and began to look about him.
The chimney reached clear to the bottom of the pit in which he was standing. A short passage underground led off from the pit. He followed it for about thirty yards, when it ended abruptly against a solid mound of earth. Investigation showed that this earth had caved in, thus blocking what had once been a long passage. Little particles of dirt showered down on his head as he stepped carefully about, indicating that the rest of the roof might cave in at any moment.
"The silence of the tomb," muttered Bob. "What a place in which to be buried alive! I can imagine what that poor little girl must have suffered in here without a light, not knowing whether she ever would be found again. There's pluck for you. I know I should have been scared stiff. What a house of mystery this is! If it were mine I would pull it to pieces to satisfy my curiosity if for no other reason. Butthe treasure? Can it be possible that we have stumbled upon the hiding place of the real treasure? I'm going to investigate this place later on. Mr. Presby's ancestors must have been regular woodchucks. At least they were great burrowers. Hold on; there must have been some sort of stream through here by the looks of the ground. The tunnel was already made. All it needed was covering and filling. I begin to see. The families used it for getting away when the Indians got too busy. But I hear the rope. I want to examine that attic."
Bob held up his lantern to look for the rope when a ray from the lantern glinted on something bright in a niche in the chimney near the base, from where a brick had been pried out. He held the lantern closer, his eyes grew large, then the young man gave a whoop that was heard far above him in the attic.