When she had gone Mr. Ferguson called Toby Clark into his private room and talked with the young man long and earnestly.
Toby was considered one of the Riverdale “characters.” He had been born in a shanty on the bank of the river, where his father had been a fisherman and his mother had helped to eke out their simple livelihood by washing for the ladies in the village. Both had died when Toby was a small boy, and for a time he did odd jobs for the storekeepers and managed in some way to keep body and soul together. He was a little fellow, even now, when he was nineteen years old. His unruly hair was a mop of tow color, and his form was not very sightly because his hands and feet seemed overgrown. Out of his whimsical, freckled face peered a pair of small, twinkling eyes, so good-humored in their expression that the boy was a general favorite. But he never had much to say for himself, although he was a keen observer and listened intently to the conversation of others.
Some years ago Judge Ferguson had taken Toby Clark into his employ, recognizing a shrewd wit and exceptional intelligence hidden beneath his unprepossessing exterior. At first, the boy went to school and took care of the judge’s furnace in winter, and his lawn and flower beds in summer. Then he was taken into the office, where he was now studying law. No one had really understood Toby except the old lawyer, and the youth was grateful and wholly devoted to his patron.
In this interview the judge told Toby exactly what he was expected to do after Phœbe had secretly introduced him into the Daring household. The entire situation was explained to him with such clearness that the amateur detective had no difficulty in understanding what was required of him.
He asked no questions, but nodded his head to show that he comprehended the situation.
“Above all,” was the final injunction, “do not lose sight of Miss Halliday. Stick to her like a burr, whatever happens; but do not let her know you are watching her. Is it all clear to you, Toby?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then run along, and be prepared to meet Phœbe at the house when Janet calls for her.”
CHAPTER XXII
MARION’S GHOST STORY
When Janet Ferguson arrived at the Eliot homestead that evening she was greeted by enthusiastic shouts from the younger Darings, with whom she was a great favorite. They surrounded her in a group before she could reach the house, while Phil came across the lawn to meet her and shake hands cordially.
Phœbe, glancing sharply around, saw Toby Clark leaning against a column of the dining room porch, where he was half hidden by the vines.
“Come!” she whispered, and led the way into the house. Halfway up the stairs she paused to look back, not hearing his footsteps; but he was so close behind that he startled her and soon she had ushered him into her own little room.
“Lock the door behind you,” said she,”and pay no attention if anyone knocks or tries to get in.”
Toby merely nodded as he shut himself in. Phœbe hurried down to join Janet, carrying a little handbag that contained the things she needed for the night.
“Why, Phœbe! where are you going?” asked Sue, seeing the bag. “To stay with Janet. Where is Cousin Judith?”
“Over at the Randolphs.”
“Then let us go that way,” said Phœbe to Janet. “I must tell her my plans, for otherwise the Little Mother might worry.” Passing close to Phil she whispered: “Is everything all right?”
“Everything is right so far,” he replied. “But how is it with you, and why are you going away to-night?”
“Just for a little excitement,” she laughed. “You seem nervous and excited, now,” said her brother, looking at her closely. “Anything new turned up to annoy you, Phœbe?”
“I’m quite contented to-night, Phil, dear.” And then she ran away before he could question her, further.
They met Cousin Judith just leaving the Randolph’s house, and Marion was with her. Miss Eliot at once approved Phœbe’s plan to stay with Janet for the night. She thought the girl had seemed unnerved and ill at ease lately and believed the change of environment would do her good.
When Judith had bade them good night and started across the street to rejoin her flock, Marion said:
“I’ll walk with you a little way, if you don’t mind. It’s such a lovely evening, and I’ve a mystery to disclose, besides.”
“A mystery — oh, Marion!” exclaimed Janet.
“Why are you so astonished?” asked Marion, as the three girls locked arms and sauntered up the street.
“Because I cannot imagine a mystery connected with such a very practical person as yourself,” returned Janet.
“Tell us what it is,” urged Phœbe, “for then it will remain a mystery no longer.”
“Oh, yes it will,” declared Marion, rather soberly. “I’ve no solution to offer. All I can do is tell you what I saw, and allow you to solve the mystery yourselves.”
“What did you see, then?” inquired Janet, curiously.
“A ghost.”
“A ghost! Why, Marion!”
“Of course, my dears, there is no such thing as a ghost, although, as I say, I saw it plainly. Otherwise I should have called it an’ apparition’ instead of a ‘mystery’.”
“To be sure.”
“But if I saw a ghost, and ghosts are impossible, then I am in touch with a mystery,” she continued. “Do you follow my logic, girls?”
Janet gave a careless laugh.
“I thought at first you were in earnest,” she said.
But Phœbe had lived in romance during the past few days and no element of mystery now seemed absurd to her. Indeed, she began to feel slightly uneasy, without knowing why.
“Where did you see your ghost, Marion?” she asked.
“In its proper place — the graveyard.”
“Oh!” said Janet and Phœbe together, for their companion had spoken seriously and with a slight shudder. Moreover, the graveyard was at that moment a short block to their left, and twilight had already fallen. Beneath the rows of maples and chestnuts that lined the road the shadows were quite deep.
“I am troubled with insomnia,” explained Marion. “The doctors say I have studied too hard and my nerves are affected. At any rate I am very wakeful, and sometimes do not go to bed until two or three o ‘clock in the morning, knowing I could not sleep if I tried. Last evening I was especially restless. It was a beautiful starlit night, so after the family had all retired I slipped out of doors and started for a walk through the lanes. I have often done this before, since I came here, and it is not unusual for me to visit the old graveyard; not because I am morbid, but for the reason that it seems so restful and quiet there.”
“Naturally, dear,” murmured Janet.
“Last night my walk took me that way. I passed through the turnstile and wandered among the graves to the far end. It must have been long after midnight, but I had not a particle of fear, believe me, girls. I was not even thinking of such preposterous things as ghosts.
“By and by I retraced my steps and sat down on a fallen slab of stone to indulge in reverie. From my position I faced that ugly square mausoleum Phœbe’s grandfather once built. There is an iron grating around it, you remember, and a marble door to the tomb itself, with bronze hinges and a bronze catch. By the way, isn’t that tomb supposed to be vacant?”
“Yes,” answered Phœbe, strangely excited. “Gran’ma Eliot and my father and mother occupy graves just beside it, for gran’pa built the big tomb just for himself.”
“Not a very generous thing to do,” added Janet; “but Mr. Eliot has always been a queer man, and done queer things.”
“Well,” continued Marion, “I sat facing the tomb, as I said, when slowly and without sound the marble door opened and a ghostly figure emerged. I won’t assert it was a spirit from the other world, nor will I claim it was some person dressed in a sheet; but I am positive it was no vision of my imagination. So let us call it the Ghostly Mystery.”
“Was it a man or a woman?” asked Phœbe, breathlessly.
“It failed to disclose its sex, my dear. The door seemed to swing shut behind it; but the ghostly one was obliged to put out an arm to raise the latch of the iron gate. It passed through and I heard the click of the latch as it again fell into place. Then the apparition — ”
“The Ghostly Mystery, Marion!”
“Oh, yes; the Ghostly Mystery glided out of sight while I sat listlessly wondering what it could be. I was not frightened, but I failed to act promptly; so, when I arose to follow it, the thing or person — or whatever it was — had disappeared for good and all.”
The three strolled on in silence for a while. Then Phœbe asked:
“What time was it?”
“Perhaps one o’clock. It was nearly two when I got home; but I had walked quite a way before I decided to enter the house.”
“And have you no idea who it might be?” questioned Janet, who had now grown thoughtful.
“Not the slightest.”
“I wish I had seen it,” said Phœbe, softly.
“Oh, do you like ghosts? Well, then, I’ll take you with me on my next midnight ramble,” laughed Marion.
“Why not go to-night?” suggested Janet. “Phœbe is going to stay with me, and you may come too, Marion. Our house is even nearer to the graveyard than your own, and at dead of night we’ll all steal out and waylay his ghost-ship. What do you say?”
“I am willing,” declared Marion. “Are you sure you will not be frightened?”
“I may be,” admitted Janet, honestly; “but I’m willing to risk it.”
“So am I!” echoed Phœbe, eagerly.
“Then it is decided,” said Marion. “I frankly acknowledge, girls, that while we are living in an eminently practical and scientific age, these romantic adventures still prove fascinating. Let us hope we shall discover the ghost, and that the apparition will be of a quality to thrill our stagnant blood.”
“Must you go home first?” inquired Janet.
“Not if you’ll lend me a night robe. No one at home pays any attention to my wanderings, so I shall not be missed.”
They soon arrived at Judge Ferguson’s comfortable residence, which was a little beyond the outskirts of the village and delightfully situated on a slight eminence. Mrs. Ferguson, an alert, pleasant-faced little woman, welcomed the girls cordially and they passed the evening chatting together and discussing recent events in which all were alike interested. Phœbe was a bit distrait, for she could not help wondering what was happening in her room at home, where Toby Clark was keeping watch over the movements of old Elaine; but no one appeared to notice her abstraction.
Later in the evening the judge came in, and smiled cheerily upon the three young girls.
“You’ve quite a house-party to-night, Janet,” he said. “I wish you might keep this bevy with you for a month.”
Neither by glance nor word did he remind Phœbe of their conversation of the afternoon, and when they prepared to go upstairs he kissed all three impartially.
“What, to bed already?” he cried. “But run along and get your beauty sleep. Why should you wish to sit up with an old fossil like me?”
“Who has deserted us nearly the whole evening,” pouted Janet.
“True; I am to blame,” he admitted. “But a lawyer is never his own master, and to-night business kept me in the town.”
Phœbe thought she knew what had occupied him, but said nothing.
In their rooms the girls sat and discussed their plans, waiting for the judge and Mrs. Ferguson to get to bed and for the arrival of the hour when they might venture forth. It was demure little Janet who suggested they all wear sheets on their midnight stroll.
“We can carry them over our arms until we get to the graveyard,” she said, “and then wrap ourselves in the white folds. If the ghost appears we’ll show him that others are able to play the same trick.”
“But we might frighten him,” laughed Marion.
“Whoever is playing ghost must be trying to frighten others,” returned Janet; “for, as you say, actual really-truly ghosts do not exist. I think it would be fun to turn the tables on the impostor.”
“Perhaps so. What do you think, Phœbe!”
“It may be a good idea,” she said, rather reluctantly, for somehow she regarded this matter far more seriously than did the others. The ghost was using her grandfather’s tomb for its headquarters, according to Marion’s report, and that gave Phœbe a personal interest in the affair.
At last the clock warned them it was nearly twelve o’clock; so they gathered up the sheets Janet had provided and stole noiselessly from the house. The graveyard was only a short distance away and they reached it about midnight, taking their position in a dark corner near the Eliot mausoleum. They assisted one another to drape the sheets effectually and then sat down upon the ground, huddled close together, to await the advent of the ghost.
“Perhaps it won’t come to-night,” whispered Janet, with a suspicion of hopefulness in her voice.
“True; we must be prepared for that disappointment,” replied Marion, soberly.
“Do you feel at all creepy, girls?” asked Phoebe, who caught herself indulging in nervous shivers at times, despite the fact that the night was warm and sultry.
“For my part,” said Marion, “I have no silly fears when in a graveyard. I find the place serenely restful, and therefore enjoy it.”
“I wouldn’t care to be here alone,” admitted Janet; “but, as we’re all together I — I don’t — think I shall mind it — even if the Ghostly Mystery materializes.”
It was a long wait, and the three girls beguiled it at times by whispering together, more through desire to hear the sound of their own voices than because they had anything important to say. One o’clock arrived at last. Marion could read the face of her watch under the starlight. Another half hour dragged wearily away.
“I fear we shall encounter no adventure tonight,” Marion was saying, when Phœbe seized her arm and drew her back into the shadow.
“Hush!” she murmured, and pointed an arm toward the turnstile.
Two hearts, at least, were beating very fast now, for the long-expected ghost was at last in sight, gliding silently past the turnstile. Well, not exactly “gliding,” they decided, watching intently. It was not a very healthy looking ghost, and to their astonishment was entering the graveyard with shuffling, uneven steps. Of course it should have suddenly appeared from some tomb, as every well regulated ghost is supposed to do.
“The Mystery seems rather clumsy, Marion,” said Janet in an excited whisper.
“Isn’t it carrying something?” asked Phœbe.
“Yes; a weight of some sort in each hand,” was Marion’s composed reply. “The weights are as white as the ghost itself. Queer; isn’t it, girls?”
Glancing neither to right nor left the apparition slowly made its way into the graveyard and advanced to the big square mausoleum erected as the future abiding place of Jonathan Eliot. The white-robed figure seemed bent and feeble.
“Come!” said Marion; “let us surround it and play ghost ourselves.”
She glided swiftly out into the starlight, wrapping her sheet closely about her, and gained a position behind the tomb. Phœbe and Janet followed, spurred on by Marion’s fearless action. One passed to the right and the other to the left.
Singularly enough, the bent figure did not observe their presence until the tomb was nearly reached, when Marion circled around the railing and confronted the mysterious visitant. At the same time Janet and Phœbe advanced and all three slowly raised their white-draped arms above their heads.
“Woo-oo-oo!” wailed Marion.
With a shriek that pierced the night air far and wide the ghost staggered backward and toppled to the ground, lying still as death.
Startled though she was, Phœbe sprang forward and peered into the upturned face.
“Why — it’s Elaine!” she cried aloud.
“Yes,” said a quiet voice beside her. “And you Ve raised t
he very mischief by this mad prank, Phœbe Daring.”
It was Toby Clark, who gazed down at the still figure and wagged his tow head, mournfully.
“Is she dead, Toby?” asked Janet, in a hushed, frightened tone.
“I think not. Probably, she’s fainted.”
“And what was she carrying?” inquired Marion, seeming unmoved by the tragic occurrence.
Phœbe knew; they were two canvas bags of gold; but she said nothing.
“See here,” cried Toby abruptly, “it’s possible you crazy females have not spoiled the game, after all. Make tracks — will you, girls? — get away, out of sight; run home, so she won’t see you when she comes to.”
“But — I don’t understand,” began Janet, timidly.
“You’re not supposed to,” retorted Toby, more gruffly than he had ever spoken to her before.
“Toby is right, girls — I know he is right. Come — please come!” pleaded Phœbe, anxiously.
Thoroughly bewildered, Janet and Marion suffered her to lead them away, and when they had passed the turnstile and were out of sight Toby retreated and hid behind a gravestone.
Elaine did not recover at once, for her terror had been great and her faint was proportionately deep and lasting. But finally, when Toby was about to steal out again and see if she were dead, the old woman moved uneasily and moaned. A little later she sat up, placing her hands to her head. Then she seemed to remember the cause of her fright, for she cast fearful glances around her.
Apparently reassured, she presently tried to rise, and after several attempts regained her feet. The bags of gold still lay where she had dropped them and after another suspicious look around the graveyard she stooped and picked them up.
For several moments the woman stood motionless in that silent city of the dead, pondering on the forms she had seen and trying to decide whether her imagination had played her a trick, or she had really beheld the spirits of those gone before. The fact that she had not been robbed led her to dismiss any idea that the forms were mortal. Whatever the explanation might be, she reflected that she was now alone and had a purpose to accomplish.
Complete Works of L. Frank Baum Page 343