CHAPTER IV Seeing the Dead
Arden felt sure there must be some historical books in the town librarythat would throw light on the legends of Jockey Hollow. By studying theselegends, Arden decided, she might strike a clue to the traditions thathad built up the Sycamore Hall ghost stories.
Hurrying to the library, determined to get at that angle without delay,she was disappointed when she saw a girl standing at the entrance andshaking the heavy door handle to make sure it was locked.
"That must be Dick's sister, Betty," she decided. "He said she worked inthe library. But why is she closing it so early?"
Reaching the door, Arden asked about the early closing. The girl, prettyand friendly, explained that lack of funds and the holiday season made itmore practical to close early. She was Betty Howe, she admitted, smilingat Arden's question. And she said her brother Dick had mentioned thegirls from the Westover house having gone riding with him.
"I'm sorry, but all the lights are out now," the girl continued. "We openat nine in the morning, you know," she smiled, putting away her keys andpulling on her gloves.
"Oh, thank you. Then I'll come back in the morning."
"Yes, do. I hope it was nothing important?"
"No, indeed," Arden answered smiling. "Tomorrow will do nicely."
But as she hurried along to Sim's she did feel disappointed.
"Did you find out anything?" Sim promptly asked, while Arden sank downrather wearily.
"No. The library was closed. But I had a nice walk," Arden tried topersuade herself as well as Sim.
"Well, let's forget the ghosts," suggested Terry. "It's been a long day,and tomorrow we'll have Dot with us."
"And so, to bed!" yawned Sim, and those who didn't yawn certainly feltlike it.
Their night was undisturbed by "witches, warlocks or lang-nebbiedthings," in spite of what had happened, or was thought to have happened,at the Hall. Not even a bad dream threw its shadow on the healthy girlssleeping serenely at Sim's.
Perhaps that grand feeling of being able to lie abed as long as theywished was too much for them; at any rate, when Terry breezily wishedMoselle a cheery good-morning, the maid made no attempt at hiding hersurprise.
"'Mornin', Miss Terry. You-all sleep well?" she inquired.
"'Morning, Moselle," Terry replied. "Yes, thank you. And now I'm readyfor a big breakfast."
Moselle grinned her delight. She loved to cook, and nothing pleases acook more than knowing her art is appreciated.
Arden and Sim were not long behind Terry, and the girls made a prettypicture in their gay dresses against the background of dark paneled wallsin the dining room.
It was Arden's day to do the marketing, but because they were to drive tothe station and meet Dorothy Keene, shortly after breakfast, they agreed,"just for this once," to leave the planning of the day's meals toMoselle. They were still determined to run the house efficiently andwell, on a smaller budget than Sim's mother had allowed; furthermore,Terry and Arden agreed not to telephone home for advice. Of course, theroutine of cleaning and washing went on as before: the girls could notimprove on that. So Moselle was instructed to call up the stores and havesomething very special for the coming guest, whose mother was "in themovies," which fact thrilled Moselle to the cockles of her heart.
When the train pulled into the suburban station, the three girls, withthe car parked as close as possible to the platform, had no trouble infinding Dorothy. Although Terry, perched on the car top, which was foldeddown, had thought she could see better from that vantage point and locateher chum more quickly, Dorothy, it developed, was the only passenger whoalighted at Pentville. So they saw her at once. She was wearing a smartfur coat cut on swagger lines and a ridiculously small hat pulled overone eye. She waved a greeting.
"Hello, Dot!" Sim ran to meet her. "Awfully glad you could come." Theyhugged affectionately. "We're having specially nice weather just foryou."
"Sim dear," the girl replied, "and Terry and Arden, it's great to seeyou. I've been in a penthouse in New York with a lot of stage-struckpeople, and I feel a bit struck myself," she laughed. "This lovelycountry and you kids are just what I need," declared the visitor.
They walked toward the car, each trying to show her own particular brandof pleasure at Dot's arrival.
"And we need you, too," Arden put in with a little tug at Dot's arm."Don't we, girls?"
"Now, look here!" and Dot pulled them all to a sudden halt. "You are upto something, I'm sure. What is it? Any new mysteries thrustingthemselves upon you?"
"Dot, my child," Arden answered, "you are positively psychic! That'sexactly what we're bursting to tell you!"
"Ghosts! Nice hundred-year-old ones! All hoary and bloody, with pointingfingers!" Terry supplied.
"And a poor old lady and two orphan grandchildren," grunted Sim, as shetried to turn the wheel of the car. All four were in the front seat, afeat accomplished by Sim, Arden, and Terry squeezing into a row and Dotsitting on Terry's lap. That Dot's head was much higher than thewindshield and unsheltered from the wind bothered them not at all. Withso much to say, they simply couldn't split up the group by using therumble seat. Dot's grips were there, anyway, and for the two weeks of hervisit she would be well supplied with clothes--at least, judging by thesize of the bags.
"Go on, my dear Watsons," chuckled Dot laughing. "Isn't there anice-looking young man any place in this mystery?"
"Of course there is," replied Terry, "and a girl, too."
"But the house, Dot--it's perfect! We heard the ghostly footstepsourselves, and in broad daylight, too!" Sim surprisingly stated.
Dorothy shook her head. "You're all sleeping idiots! Well, I won't arouseyou. I suppose country people must have some amusement."
"Country people!" Three voices sang out together. It never failed. Asuggestion that they in Pentville were not as metropolitan as their NewYork chum was always a disputed point.
"A ghost couldn't live in New York," Arden said sarcastically. "You haveto get out where there is some room for ghosts. Like Pentville or JockeyHollow."
"Don't you believe us, Dot?" Terry asked. Dot just smiled.
"We'll show you. What do you say, girls--shall we go over to JockeyHollow before we go home? The bags will be safe. Our ghost isn't athief." Sim slowed down at the junction where one road led to the Hollow,which they would pass as they went to Sim's house, though at somedistance.
"Yes! Let's go, Sim. If you're not afraid of the car on those roads,"Terry said, plainly anxious to go back to Sycamore Hall.
Sim needed no urging, and going into second she turned the wheel and verycarefully started down the narrow dirt road. On the brow of the hill shestopped and pointed out the faded stone walls of the house which couldclearly be seen through the bare trees.
"That's it, unbeliever," Sim told her guest. "We'll take you inside, ifwe can get in, and show you things your eyes have never before beheld."
"Lead on MacDuff," Dorothy laughed. "Whom have you hired to jump out onme and cry 'Boo'?"
"Word of honor, Dot," Arden insisted, "it isn't a joke. You'll see! Goon, Sim," she prompted.
Bouncing and rolling from side to side, the little roadster neared thehouse. The old lane that once approached prosperous farm lands, but wasnow overgrown and stony, led almost to the door. But knowing she mustturn around again to go home, Sim stopped so they could back out.
Shutting off the motor, she turned to her friends.
"I hope he shows up," Sim whispered to Arden and Terry.
"Who?" asked Dot.
"The old soldier with a wounded head, all bandaged in bloody rags. Hewears very heavy boots and was hidden and sheltered from the British inthis old house during the Revolution," Terry guessed facetiously.
"But how did you find out all this?" Dot was plainly interested but alsoa little incredulous.
"We were riding here in Jockey Hollow yesterday," Sim explained, "whenour horses were frightened, and we were, als
o, by some Negro workmenrushing out of the place, crying, 'Ghost!' Oh, it was startling!" and sherelated, in her most convincing way the details of their strangeadventure.
"Oh!" said Dorothy after a little pause. "Oh!" That was all.
The four sat in the car, no one speaking for a while. Their ownimaginings had gotten the best of them, evidently, though no one wouldadmit it.
Then, suddenly, the quiet and peace surrounding the old Hall was broken,by the loud squeaking of ancient nails being pulled from hundred-year-oldwood, and the shrill sounds were like the shrieks of frightened women. Itstartled the girls into activity.
"The workmen are back!" Arden said disappointedly. "I guess the ghostwon't dare come out."
"Too bad, girls. You almost had me believing you. But let's go in andlook around, anyway. I like old houses, with or without ghosts." Dot wasstill skeptical.
So they climbed out of the car and picked their way over the tangledvines and low bushes to the door: a dignified, paneled old piecedecorated with a handsomely discolored brass knocker.
Dorothy, in a spirit of bravado, lifted the knocker up and rapped it downsmartly. They waited a second and, still defiant, Dorothy put her hand onthe bronze knob to open the door.
No one knew just how it happened. Dorothy said she had not yet tried toopen the door when it swung back of its own motion, and instantly the dimold hallway stretched before them. At that the reassuring sound ofhammering suddenly stopped and, gathering courage, the girls were aboutto enter when a shout--half scream, half moan--echoed through the oldmansion.
The girls stood transfixed with terror, almost breathless. Another cryquickly followed, and then the sound of loud, hurrying footsteps could beheard. There was a rush of bodies, and three men in working clothes,powdered white with plaster dust, literally jumped down the last fewsteps of the great staircase and continued their maddened race out of thebig front door, brushing by the astonished girls without a word.
"There!" cried Sim triumphantly. "Something's happening now!"
"I should say so!" gasped Terry, looking at Dot, whose eyes showed wonderand who seemed too surprised to speak.
"Hey! Wait!" Arden shouted, and she turned to pursue the last of thethree frightened men still wildly running away. "Wait! Tell us what's thematter!"
The workman, beating his hands on his trousers to knock out some of thedust, barely hesitated.
"Lady, I can't wait!" he exclaimed. "We saw the dead body of an old womanstretched out on a bed. We saw her in a room below where we wereworking--saw her through a hole I tore in the floor and that went intothe ceiling of her room. We saw her plain! I'm finished on this job!" Hehad to wait to say all that, but then turned and ran on.
"Oh, please!" begged Arden. "Just where did you see her? Tell us! Is shereally dead?"
"I didn't go near her," he said breathlessly. "I don't want to get mixedup in no murder case. But she sure looked dead to me--lying flat on herback--in a red dress--or something--and pale--pale as----" He lookedtoward his retreating companions, now some distance down the road, andthen, with a frightened glance up at the old Hall, he turned again andran away.
"Well, what do you think of this?" demanded Sim. "Shall we go in?" Sheturned to Dorothy as though asking her permission.
"I--er--why, of course!" the visitor decided, perhaps a bit hesitantly."If there's anything wrong we ought to notify the police. Yes, we must dothat."
It was a bold decision. It rather pleased Arden and her chums.