“Well, I don’t know,” Mr. Carter said doubtfully. “It sounds a bit fantastic to me. Your thought would be to have the party last all night?”
“Into the wee small hours, at least. Oh, Dad, it would work out beautifully. The guests won’t need to know anything about why Jack was in the house.”
Jack said he thought it was a good idea, and Dad gave in. Mrs. Conrad did not protest. She was past protesting. I think we could have proposed housing a herd of swine on the premises, and she would have inquired as to how much straw we required.
“I’ll leave all the plans for the party in your hands, Jane,” my father said. “Can you take care of it on such short notice?”
“Yes, you invite the newspaper gang, and I’ll do the rest. You might sign over a couple of checks in blank. I’ll have to arrange with a caterer to bring in food and find musicians.”
I had a lot of work to do, and I couldn’t do it alone. I headed back to Greenville. On the way home, I stopped off at Mud Cat Joe’s shed. There was no one around, so I wrote a hasty note, telling Mud Cat where we had seen a houseboat resembling the one he had lost. I tacked it to the shed door and hurried home.
Mrs. Timms and Florence both came to my assistance. We found a caterer willing to deliver at short notice. Flo had a cousin who played in a five-piece orchestra, and they were free for the evening. The only thing left was the entertainment.
“Even if it isn’t Halloween, we’ll have ghost stunts and the like,” I said. “That reminds me that I must buy candles. Mrs. Conrad’s dreadful furniture won’t seem so bad by candlelight.”
By eight o’clock, everything was ready. Mr. Carter had invited every member of the Examiner’s staff who would not be required at the plant. There were to be nearly thirty guests.
The caterer filled up Mrs. Conrad’s kitchen. Flo and I scattered candles around the parlor. The five-piece orchestra was shoehorned into a corner.
I was so tired that I couldn’t even look forward to the prospect of dancing with Jack.
“There, I can’t think of another thing left undone,” I said, checking over the food and drinks supply in Mrs. Conrad’s kitchen. Florence and Emma had been helping me while Jack leaned indolently against the table helping himself to the dessert tray.
“Jack, if you keep on pushing cakes down your hatch at this rate we’re going to run short on food,” I said.
“I have to have something to fortify my courage,” he said. “I see that the Greenville Examiner intends to adhere to the law of the land when it comes to the consumption of liquor. It’s a shame, Jane, that on his last night on earth, a poor condemned man can’t even get a decent drink.”
“So, in lieu of a nice scotch, you’re having several pounds of chocolate cake?”
“I am,” said Jack, “fully realizing that this may be the last food I’ll ever eat.”
“Don’t say such things—even in fun,” I said. “You don’t have to do it, you know. It’s not too late to change your mind.”
Jack didn’t answer and went to stand by the window. Flo and Emma had left us, and I went to stand beside him.
“It’s the perfect night for dramatic happening,” he said. “Dark, rainy, wind howling. And a nice bed waiting for little Jack in room seven.”
“I almost wish you weren’t doing it,” I said.
“Jane—”
“What?”
Just then, a batch of guests arrived. I could hear them in the hall.
“Tell me later,” I said, and went out to play hostess.
For the first two hours, we all danced. I danced eight times with Jack, but only the fast tunes. He seemed to be avoiding the slow waltzes.
When everyone was good and tired, I introduced a series of games and stunts. I was kept so busy, that from ten o’clock on, I caught only an occasional glimpse of my father or Jack.
Shortly after eleven o’clock, I realized that I hadn’t seen Jack for a while. I found my father and asked if Jack had already taken himself off to maintain his vigil in room seven.
“Yes, Jack is up there now,” Dad told. “But I’m fairly certain nothing will come of it.”
“Why do you think that, Dad?”
“I believe it was a mistake having this party here. Not that it isn’t going over big. You’ve done a good job, Jane. But I can’t see that it will contribute toward our scoop.”
I was disappointed, but I tried not to show it.
“Do the Conrads know that Jack is staying in room seven?” I asked.
“I didn’t tell them, but they probably know it by now. I instructed Jack to advertise his presence by turning on the lights.”
“Just what did you hope might happen tonight, Dad?”
“Well, I thought someone might try to enter room seven. Jack has a gun, and we rigged up a camera trap. All he needs to do is to touch it off. But, as I say, our plans probably will be wasted.”
“Is anyone besides Jack keeping guard?”
“No, he’s alone in the room. I intend to go up there every fifteen minutes or so just to make certain he’s all right.”
I returned to the parlor to find that all the lights save one candle had been extinguished.
“You’re just in time, Jane,” called out one of the guests. “We’ve thought up some games of our own.”
“That’s fine. What is this one?”
“Oh, that old Halloween stunt,” the girl went on. “You hold a mirror and a candle and see the face of your beloved. Your turn will be next after Florence’s.”
I laughed as saw how the stunt worked. In the darkness, a young man slipped up behind the girl who was gazing into the mirror, so that she saw his reflection in the glass.
It was Flo’s turn, and she took her place not far from the window. Holding the candle in her left hand, she stared into the mirror.
Suddenly she screamed, and the looking glass dropped from her hand to the floor. All the color drained from her cheeks.
“What is the matter, Florence?” I said. “Didn’t you see the face of your future sweetheart?”
“I saw a man.” Florence shuddered.
“It was only Bill Evans, the sports reporter!” I laughed.
I thought Flo must be overtired not to have realized how the stunt worked. Florence glanced nervously over her shoulder and retreated to a chair by the wall. A shout of laughter went up at Bill Evans’ expense, but Flo did not join in.
“Let’s try some other game,” I said, and before anyone could protest, I switched on the electric lights.
At the first opportunity, I drew Florence into the hallway.
“You weren’t pretending, Flo. You really saw something in that mirror?”
“That was not Bill Evans that I saw in the mirror!”
“You’re certain?”
Florence gave me a scornful look.
“I saw Bill’s face in the mirror too, but that wasn’t what frightened me. Someone was watching us all through the window!”
CHAPTER 16
I could not shake Florence’s firm conviction about what she’d seen in the mirror. I suggested that it might have been one of the male guests, gone out for a gasper, but she insisted it wasn’t any of the guests. I went and told my father.
“I’ll take a look outside,” he promised.
Within ten minutes, he returned to report that he’d found no one around.
“I feel very uneasy,” I said. “Florence isn’t the type to imagine anything. I do wish Jack hadn’t decided to go through with his plan.”
“Well, we might call it off,” Dad said. “I really doubt any good will be gained by his spending the night in room seven, anyway. It was just one of those happy ideas which didn’t seem to work out.”
“Shall I run up and tell him now?” I asked.
“Might as well, I guess.”
Leaving the merry-makers below, I climbed the stairs. A light was burning in the room occupied by Mr. and Mrs. Conrad. The remainder of the upper floor was dark.
I
knocked on the door of room seven.
No answer.
“Jack,” I called softly.
Still no response.
I knocked again on the door, this time louder.
Still, there was no answer.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood up as I twisted the doorknob.
It was locked.
“Jack! Jack! Are you all right?”
As I pounded frantically on the door, a wave of terror swept over me. Something horrible had happened to Jack! I raced downstairs to find Father. He was talking to the society editor, but when he saw the expression on my face, he instantly excused himself and joined me in the deserted hallway.
“What is it, Jane?”
“Come quickly, Dad.”
“Has anything happened to Jack?”
“I don’t know. I’m afraid so. When I rapped on the door, he didn’t answer.”
“He probably fell asleep,” said Dad. “Don’t get so excited, Jane.”
“The door was locked, Dad.”
“Locked?”
Dad ran up the stairway. I followed. He tried the door of room seven, calling out for Jack. Then he pounded on the door, but there was no response.
“Something is wrong! This door shouldn’t be locked.”
“The Conrad’s have a key,” I said.
I darted down the hall and rapped on the door of Mr. and Mrs. Conrad’s room.
“Now what do you want?” Mr. Conrad demanded. “Ain’t it enough that you bring a noisy, carousing bunch of folks here, without bothering us when we’re in bed?”
Glen Conrad had not been in bed, for he was fully dressed, but I didn’t pause to argue with him.
“Do you have a key to room seven?”
“Yes.”
“Then open the door for us and be quick about it! We’re afraid something has happened in there!”
“Again?” shrieked Mrs. Conrad from the bed. “Oh! Oh! This will ruin us!”
“Don’t stand there staring, man!” Dad was beside me now. “Give me that key, or I’ll have to break down the door.”
Mr. Conrad retreated into the depths of the bedroom and reappeared with a master key. His wife, drawing a ragged dressing gown over her night dress, followed us down the hall. Mr. Conrad unlocked the door of room seven and switched on the lights. I looked at the great mahogany bed that occupied most of the room. It was empty.
“Jack’s gone!” My voice was high and squeaky.
Mrs. Conrad uttered a shriek of terror, then collapsed into her husband’s arms.
“Drop the hysterics,” Dad ordered grimly. “That is unless you want everyone in the house to learn what has happened!”
“We’ll be ruined—ruined,” Mrs. Conrad moaned, but she kept her voice down.
There was no evidence of any struggle. The bedspread was in disarray as if Jack had lain on top of it. Evidently, he had removed his shoes before lying down, for they had been set neatly by the post.
There was an odd floral scent lingering in the room, just as Emma had described smelling on the night Mr. Harwood disappeared. It was floral, but also slightly smoky. I was certain that it wasn’t spilled aftershave, as Emma had surmised. Was it incense? If it was, it was incense of a variety I’d never smelled before.
Dad looked under the pillows and held up Jack’s revolver.
“This is the weirdest thing I have ever encountered,” Dad said. “No shots fired—not a sound from this room—yet Jack disappeared from under our very noses.”
“Maybe he jumped out of the window like those other fellows did,” Glen Conrad suggested, and was rewarded with a scornful glance from my father.
Dad told me to stay in room seven and make sure nothing was touched, while he ran downstairs for help.
He returned with Shep and Bill Evans and started to inspect the room. Shep examined the camera apparatus which he’d set up earlier in the evening.
“The Xenon flash lamp went off,” said Shep. “Jack evidently pulled the trigger which was rigged up to the bed! I’ll rush the plates back to Greenville and get them into the darkroom, so we can have a look!”
“I make no pretensions of being a detective,” Dad said, turning to the Conrads. “This is now clearly a case for the police.”
“No! No!” pleaded Mrs. Conrad. “My husband and I would be blamed for everything which has happened here. And I swear we are innocent! Oh, please, don’t notify the police, Mr. Carter.”
“The only reason I wouldn’t is because I fear they would bungle the case,” Dad said. “If I’m not to inform the police, then I’ll need a very clever detective. I’ll send for Clarence Emerson!”
Dad shooed everyone from the room, locked the door, and pocketed the key. He then telephoned his detective friend, Clarence Emerson.
“The police haven’t been called in, as yet,” he told Mr. Emerson. “Bring your fingerprint equipment, and get over here as quickly as you can, Clarence.”
I made it clear to the guests that the party was over. A few of the reporters were quietly asked to remain, while the others motored back to the city. Dad entrusted the plates taken from room seven to Shep.
“Develop these right away and see what we have. The solution of the case may depend on your work,” Dad said to Shep. “You leave immediately, and I’ll get to Greenville as soon as I can. Wait at the office for me.”
The reporters who had been sent to search the area around Old Mansion returned. They had found no trace of Jack Bancroft.
“Keep searching,” my father ordered. “Until Jack is found, you’ll be on duty twenty-four hours a day. Pick up any clues you can. Hawkes, round up a man who knows the river, and start dragging.”
“Oh, Dad,” I said. “You don’t think—”
“No,” he answered. “I believe that Jack is still alive. But we can’t afford to overlook anything. By delaying in notifying the police, I am assuming a responsibility which might result in a jail sentence. We must find Jack and solve the case quickly! If I didn’t believe that Clarence Emerson is a better detective than any on the police force, I’d never take matters into my own hands so ruthlessly.”
“I know a local man who is familiar with every ripple and shoal in the Grassy,” I said. “Mud Cat Joe. He could be trusted not to talk. However, he has no equipment.”
“We can take care of that.”
Bill and I went in search of Joe. When we found Mud Cat, I didn’t tell him the whole story, but I told him enough to impress upon him the importance of dragging the river.
“It’s sho’ hard work rowin’ back and forth all day,” Mud Cat sighed, “and it will keep me from a-huntin’ for my own boat, but you been mighty good to Jennie and me and the young ’uns, Ma’am. I’ll get at it soon’s daylight comes.”
“You’ve not found The Empress, yet?” I asked as we climbed back into the car.
“No, I was much obliged to you fer that note you left. But when I got over to Mulberry River, they wasn’t no sign of any houseboat.”
“My father will pay you well for your work,” I told him. “Maybe even enough to buy lumber for a new boat.”
Mud Cat Joe’s problem had slipped to the back of my mind. I tried to wonder what had become of the houseboat which Flo and I had viewed from the bridge, but I didn’t really care. Every time I tried to focus my thoughts on anything, I soon reverted to worrying about Jack.
The events of the night seemed unreal, like a nightmare. What had become of the missing reporter? I refused to believe that his body would be found in the river, yet as my father had said, we could afford to overlook no possibility. I felt ill with dread and worry.
Arriving at Old Mansion once more, I learned that Clarence Emerson had arrived during my absence.
“He hasn’t run into a single worthwhile clue so far,” Dad told me. “He thinks our best bet may be that photograph Jack snapped. We’ll run over to the Examiner office now and see how it turned out.”
“What will be done with Mr. and Mrs. Conrad?”<
br />
“Clarence is questioning them now.”
“And Emma?”
“She’ll stay here, too. At least until Clarence has talked with her.”
We made a record-breaking trip to Greenville. I refused to be left off at home, so Dad and I went on to the Examiner office. Many of the rooms were dark, for the final edition had been run off the presses hours before, but lights burned on the second floor where the photographers had their quarters.
As we came in, Shep Murphy emerged from the dark room, his hands dripping wet.
“How did it turn out?” Dad asked him.
“Well, there’s something on the plate. Come on in and look at it.”
We stepped into the dark room. Shep lifted the plate from the developer tray and held it in front of the red light.
“I can’t make much out of it myself,” he confessed. “Looks like a picture gallery.”
“It’s the east wall of the room!” I said. “It’s a photograph of those four hideous paintings!”
“You’re right,” Dad said. “Our best clue amounts to exactly nothing.”
CHAPTER 17
Even after the plate was sufficiently fixed so that it could be safely exposed to bright light, we were unable to find anything in the picture which offered a clue to the mystery of Jack’s disappearance.
“Well, print it up, Shep,” Dad said. “But unless Clarence Emerson knows something we don’t, I can’t see that the photograph will be of any use to him.”
“I blame myself for what happened,” my father said as we drove toward home. “It was a crazy idea of mine, putting Jack in that room alone. If we don’t find him—”
“We will find him, Dad,” I said. “We must.”
“I don’t give a hang about the story—now. I’d sacrifice a hundred scoops to prevent a thing like this from occurring.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Dad. You mustn’t blame yourself.”
“I’ll solve the case if it’s the last thing I ever do! It makes no sense that three people could disappear under the same set of circumstances, and each leave no clue!”
Jane Carter Historical Cozies: Omnibus Edition (Six Mystery Novels) Page 23