CHAPTER III
AMATEUR DETECTIVES
While Cynthia was bending over her desk during study-hour, strugglingwith a hopelessly entangled account in Latin of Caesar and his GallicWars, her next neighbor thrust a note into her hand. Glad of anydiversion, she opened it and read:
This afternoon for the B. U. H. How much pocket-money have you?
J.
Cynthia had no difficulty in guessing the meaning of the initials, butshe could not imagine what pocket-money had to do with the matter, soshe wrote back:
All right. Only thirty cents. More next week.
C.
She passed it along to Joyce at the other end of the room, and returnedto Caesar in a more cheerful frame of mind. Joyce, she knew, wouldexplain all mysteries later, and she was content to wait.
Almost a week had passed since the first adventure of the Boarded-upHouse, and nothing further had happened. Joyce and Cynthia were healthy,normal girls, full of interests connected with their school, withoutdoor affairs, and with social life, so they had much to occupy thembeside this curious quest on which they had become engaged. A fraternitymeeting had occupied one afternoon, dancing-school another, atramping-excursion a third, and so on through the ensuing week. Notonce, however, in the midst of all these outside interests, had theyforgotten their strange adventure. When they were alone together theytalked of it incessantly, and laid elaborate plans for future amateurdetective work.
"It's just like a story!" Joyce would exclaim. "And who would ever havethought of a _story_ in that old, Boarded-up House. And _us_ in themidst of it!" Cynthia's first question that afternoon, on the way homefrom high school, was:
"What did you ask about pocket-money for? I'm down pretty low on myallowance, but I don't see what that's got to do with things." Joycelaughed.
"Well, I'm lower yet--ten cents to last till the month's out! But hasn'tit struck you that we've got to have _candles_--plenty of them--andmatches, and a couple of candlesticks at least? How else can we ever getabout the place, pitch-dark as it all is? And if we tried to get themfrom home, some one would suspect right away."
"Ten cents' worth of candles ought to last us quite a while," began thepractical Cynthia; "and ten cents more will buy a whole package ofsafety-matches. And for five cents we can get a candlestick, but we'dbetter stop at _one_ for the present, or we won't have a cent leftbetween us! Let's get them right now." While they were making theirpurchases, Cynthia had another idea.
"I'll tell you what, Joyce, I'm going to take along a dust-cloth andclean up around the window where we get in. My sweater was just blackwith dirt and cobwebs last time, and Mother _almost_ insisted on anexplanation. Fortunately she was called away for something, just then,and afterward didn't think of it. I've washed the sweater since!"
"Good idea!" assented Joyce. "Momsie wanted to know how I'd torn mineand got it so mussy, too. I told her I'd been chasing up Goliath,--whichwas really quite true, you know."
"I never _can_ think of things to say that will be the truth and yet notgive the whole thing away!" sighed the downright Cynthia. "I wish I wereas quick as you!"
"Never mind! You've got the _sense_, Cynthia! I never would have thoughtof the dust-cloth."
Getting into the Boarded-up House this time was accompanied by lessdifficulty than the first. Before entering, Cynthia thoroughly dustedthe window-ledge and as far about it as she could reach, with the resultthat there was less, if any, damage to their clothes. Armed as they werewith plenty of candles and matches, there were no shudders either, orfears of the unknown and the dark. Even Cynthia was keen for the quest,and Joyce was simply bursting with new ideas, some of which sheexpounded to Cynthia as they were lighting their candles in the cellar.
"You know, Cyn, I've been looking at the place carefully from theoutside. We haven't seen a third of it yet,--no, not even a _quarter_!There's the wing off the parlor toward your house, and the one off thedining-room toward mine. I suppose the kitchen must be in that one, butI can't think what's in the other, unless it's a library. We must seethese to-day. And then there's all up-stairs."
"What I want to see most of all is the picture you spoke of that hangsin the parlor," said Cynthia. "Do you suppose we could turn it around?"
"Oh, I'd love to, only I don't know whether we ought! And it's heavy,too. I hardly think we could. Perhaps we might just try to peep behindit. You know, Cynthia, I realize we're doing something a little _queer_being in this house and prying about. I'm not sure our folks wouldapprove of it. Only the old thing has been left _so_ long, and there'ssuch a mystery about it, and we're not harming or disturbing anything,that perhaps it isn't so dreadful. Anyhow, we must be _very_ careful notto pry into anything we ought not touch. Perhaps then it will be allright." Cynthia agreed to all this without hesitation. She, indeed, hadeven stronger feelings than Joyce on the subject of their trespassing,but the joy of the adventure and the mystery with which they weresurrounding it, outweighed her scruples. When they were half-way up thecellar steps, Joyce, who was ahead, suddenly exclaimed:
"Why, the door is open! Probably we left it so in our hurry the otherday. We must be more careful after this, and leave everything as we findit." They tiptoed along the hall with considerably more confidence thanon their former visit, pausing to hold their candles up to the pictures,and peeping for a moment into the curiously disarranged dining-room.
But they entered the drawing-room first and stood a long while beforethe fireplace, gazing at the picture's massive frame and its challengingwooden back. A heavy, ropelike cord with large silk tassels attached thepicture to its hook, and the cord was twisted, as if some one had turnedthe picture about without stopping to readjust it.
"How strange!" murmured Cynthia. But Joyce had been looking at somethingelse.
"Do you see that big chair with its back close to the mantel?" sheexclaimed. "I've been wondering why it stands in that position with itsback to the fireplace. There was a fire there. You can tell by the ashesand that half-burned log. Well, don't you see? Some one pulled thatchair close to the mantel, stepped on it, and turned the picture face tothe wall. Now, I wonder why!"
"But look here!" cried Cynthia. "If some one else stood up there andturned the picture around, why couldn't we do the same? We could turn itback after we'd seen it, couldn't we?" Joyce thought it over a moment.
"I'll tell you, Cynthia (and I suppose you'll think me queer!), thereare two reasons why I'd rather not do it right now. In the first place,that silk cord it's hanging by may be awfully rotten after all theseyears, and if we touch it, the whole thing may fall. And then, somehow,I sort of like to keep the mystery about that picture till a littlelater,--till we've seen the rest of the house and begun 'putting two andtwo together.' Wouldn't you?" Cynthia agreed, as she was usually likelyto do, and Joyce added:
"Now let's see what's in this next room. I think it must be a library.The door of it opens right into this." Bent on further discovery, theyopened the closed door carefully. It was, as Joyce had guessed, alibrary. Book-shelves completely filled three sides of the room. A longlibrary table with an old-fashioned reading-lamp stood in the middle.The fourth side of the room was practically devoted to another hugefireplace, and over the mantel hung another portrait. It was of abeautiful young woman, and before it the girls stopped, fascinated, togaze a long while.
There was little or nothing in this room to indicate that any strangehappening had transpired here. A few books were strewn about as thoughthey had been pulled out and thrown down hastily, but that was all. Theone thing that attracted most strongly was the portrait of the beautifulwoman--she seemed scarcely more than a girl--over the fireplace. The twoexplorers turned to gaze at it afresh.
"There's one thing I've noticed about it that's different from theothers," said Joyce, thoughtfully. "It's fresher and more--more modernthan the rest of the portraits in the drawing-room and hall. Don't youthink so?" Cynthia did.
"And look at her dress, those long, full sleeves and the big, b
ulgingskirt! That's different, too. And then her hair, not high and powderedand all fussed up, but low and parted smooth and drawn down over herears, and that dear little wreath of tiny roses! She almost seems to begoing to speak. And, oh, Cynthia, isn't she beautiful with those big,brown eyes! Somehow I feel as if I just loved her--she's such a_darling_! And _I_ believe she had more to do with the queer things inthis house than any of those other dead-and-alive picture-ladies. Tellyou what! We'll go to the public library to-morrow and get out a bigbook on costumes of the different centuries that I saw there once. Then,by looking up this one, we can tell just about what time she lived. Whatdo you say?"
"As usual, you've thought of just the thing to do. I never would have,"murmured Cynthia, still gazing at the picture of the lovely lady.Suddenly Joyce started nervously:
"Hush! Do you hear anything? I'm almost certain I heard a sound in theother room!" They both fell to listening intently. Yes, there _was_ asound, a strange, indefinable one like a soft tiptoeing at longintervals, and even a curious, hoarse breathing. Something was certainlyoutside in the drawing-room.
"What shall we _do_?" breathed Cynthia. "We can't get out of herewithout passing through that room! Oh, Joyce!" They listened again.The sound appeared to be approaching the door. It was, without doubt, asoft tiptoeing step. Suddenly there was the noise of a chair scraping onthe floor as if it had been accidentally brushed against. Both girlswere now numb with terror. They were caught as in a trap. There was noescape. They could only wait in racking suspense where they were.
They stared with the fascination of horror]
As they stared with the fascination of horror, the partially open doorwas pushed farther open and a dim gray form glided around its edge.Joyce clutched Cynthia, gave one little shriek, half-relief andhalf-laughter, and gasped:
"Oh, Cynthia! _It's Goliath!_"