The Blue Ghost Mystery

by John Blaine

  Rick wasn’t sure. “We can take the bag along,” he said. “Maybe the microscope will tell ussomething, or maybe Dr. Miller will know.”

  He had a feeling that the bags meant something.

  They had been hidden, and only the erosion of rain had uncovered them, first at the creek embankment and now here. The Frostola man had almost certainly taken the

  others. Why?Unless they had something to do with the mystery? The bags were

  worthless, of themselves.

  They finished the survey of the area. It was clear that whoever produced the ghost would have to enter by the road from town, because there was no other road on the side of the hill in which the mine was located. To be sure, the area could be reached by walking a considerable distance, but Rick couldn’t see a man with equipment doing much walking through cornfields or woods filled with underbrush. He was certain the ghost had to be produced by equipment of some kind, probably electric powered -which

  meant batteries.

  The problem was,where did the ghost producer operate? If dry ice was used to produce the mist, how did it get into the pool? He had no answers to these vital questions, nor did Scotty.

  The dark-haired boy looked at him quizzically as they trudged back to the farmhouse.

  “Did it ever occur to you that it’s impossible for anyone to produce the ghost? There is no place within sight of the pool where anyone could hide, except in a tree, and a man with equipment wouldn’t go undetected by a gang at the picnic grounds.”

  “It did occur to me,” Rick admitted. “But doesn’t that put us back where we started?

  Either the ghost is a genuine spook, or it’s man-made. We’re not making many miles an hour in proving it’s man-made, I admit. But if it isn’t, where does that leave us?”

  Rick remembered the chase through the woods, ending with a bath in the quarry. If they had been chasing a real ghost, and the ghost had led them into danger deliberately, that meant . . . He wasn’t sure what it meant except that it gave him goose pimples to think about it.

  The electricity and telephone service had been restored by the time the boys got back.

  Dr. Miller told them that he had phoned the tenant farmer and arranged for the man to do a little inquiring in the town.

  Rick displayed the bag. “Got a specimen,” he told the group. He explained their interest in the bag and asked Dr. Miller if he could identify the contents.

  The scientist examined the grayish powder from the bag. “It could be any one of a hundred things,” he said. “Let’s see what we can find out about it.”

  The farmhouse wasn’t equipped for any kind of chemical analysis, but the scientist did what was possible. He tried to dissolve the powder in water, and failed. He tried vinegar, as the only acid available, and failed. He tried ammonia, and failed.

  Finally he said, “Well, it isn’t cement, and it isn’t fertilizer. It’s an inorganic substance. I suggest the microscope, Rick. It will at least give us a clue to its structure, if not its identity.”

  Rick spread a small amount on a slide, switched on the substage light, and put the slide on the stage. He focused, using his highest-power lens combination which gave a magnification of three hundred times.

  The powder was clearly crystalline, a mineral of some kind. Rick couldn’t identify it.

  He turned the eyepiece over to Dr. Miller. The scientist had no better luck.

  Barby asked, “Could it be an explosive?”

  “No, Barby.This is powdered rock of some kind,” Dr. Miller answered, his eye at the instrument. “But why anyone should use powdered rock and then hide the bags certainly escapes me. I can’t imagine what the powder is for. It isn’t a powdered limestone, which might be used on the fields. The crystal structure is wrong for that.”

  “Wish we had a geologist with us,” Hick said. “This calls for an expert.” He stared helplessly at the microscope. There was only one more test that could be made, and he saw no use in making it.

  Included in the microscopy set Barby had given him was a gadget called

  aspinthariscope , like a cone of black plastic with the sharp end of the cone slicedoff. In the wide end of the cone, inset so it wouldn’t touch the eye, was a lens. The small end was composed of a disk of special chemical that fluoresced when struck by an atomic particle.

  The little instrument used a principle dating back to the early history of atomic energy, when scientists were exploring the nature of the strange force the Curies had discovered in radium and polonium.

  It was only his training in thoroughness of investigation that led Rick to use the instrument. Since it was necessary for the eye to become adapted to the darkness before using the instrument, he took it into a closet and shut the door. As the pupils of his eyes dilated he worked by touch, spreading a bit of powder on the end containing the special sulfide screen.

  He applied his eye to the lens, more as a matter of form than in the expectation of seeing anything. For an instant he saw nothing, then, as his eye adjusted, he let out a wild yell. There were hundreds of scintillations, each caused by a nuclear particle or photon striking the screen.

  The sample was radioactive!

  CHAPTER X

  An Assist from JANIG

  “We’re onto something,” Rick said grimly, “and we need help.”

  “I should say so,” Barby commented. She eyed the cement bag a little apprehensively.

  “After all, radioactivity is dangerous!”

  Dr. Miller smiled. “It is, in sufficient quantity. But the sample we have here is scarcely above normal background, so I don’t think we need be concerned.” The scientist turned to Rick. “I wish your instrument could give us further data, but unfortunately it’s pretty primitive. It tells us the sample is slightly radioactive and that’s all. I agree we need help.”

  The nearest source of help Rick could think of was JANIG, the secret security agency inWashington for which the Spindrift scientists had often worked on special projects.

  This wasn’t a matter for the agency officially, but Rick was sure Steve Ames, their contact in JANIG, would help if he could. Since Spindrift had first worked with the agency on The Whispering Box Mystery, Steve and the boys had become good friends.

  Rick suggested to the others that Steve should be called. All of them knew the young agent. He had been responsible to a large extent for the Millers joining the Spindrift staff, since he had smuggled them out ofWashington to Spindrift to escape the deadly electronic mind reader that had imperiled the scientist for weeks.

  There was no disagreement. On the contrary, Jan Miller asked excitedly, “What’s the matter with right now?”

  “Nothing,” Rick said with a grin. He went to the telephone book and found the long-range dialing code forWashington , then dialed Steve’s special number directly. In less than half a minute he had the agent on the phone.

  “Steve? What a break to find you in! This is Rick.” He swiftly outlined the events of the past few days, ending with the discovery that the bag contents were radioactive. He concluded, “I know this isn’t a case for you, but we hoped you might help us to identify the stuff from the bag and get a better measure of how active it is.”

  Steve considered. “Know whereFalls Church airport is?”

  Rick had used it for a landmark on the way to the farm. It was a small private airport west ofWashington near the city ofFalls Church . “I know where it is.”

  “All right.You’re only a few minutes flying time from there. It’s nowtwo thirty . Be there at four. I’ll have a man meet you. Bring the sample.”

  Rick thanked the agent and hung up. He reported that Steve would send a man to the airport atfour o’clock .

  Scotty asked, “Is thefield dry enough for take-off and landing?”

  “Sure. I hope Steve has a real expert he can send. If we can identify this stuff, it may give us a clue to what’s going on here.”

  At Barby’s request, Rick and Scotty took the girls along for the short
ride. Steve’s man walked to the plane as they rolled to a stop on theFalls Church strip. He introduced himself as Don Baxter,then opened the suitcase he carried. “Let’s see what you have.”

  He produced a field-survey instrument and held it over the bag Rick carried. The instrument’s meter showed a reading at once.

  “Gamma,” Baxter stated. “Now let’s try for alpha and beta.” He opened a shield on the bottom of his instrument and checked the sample again. The meter failed to respond.

  “No beta. That’s interesting.” An inner shield was slid out of the way and the instrument held to the bag. The meter responded.

  Baxter nodded satisfaction.“Alpha and gamma. No beta. That means this stuff is not a fission product. He studied the powder and rubbed a bit between his thumb and

  forefinger. He asked, “May I have the bag?”

  “Sure,” Rick agreed readily. “What is the stuff?” Baxter took the cement bag and folded it neatly,then he took a plastic bag from his case and put the cement bag inside. “I can’t be sure,” he said. “About its precise identity, I mean. But it seems to be pulverized ore, and my guess would be carnotite. Don’t worry about the radioactivity. You could live in a house made of this stuff and it wouldn’t be dangerous. The level of activity is very low. I suppose you have no idea where the sample came from?”

  Rick shook his head. “Where does carnotite come from, usually?”

  “TheColorado Plateau, for the most part. There are other deposits, but none around here. This stuff was almost certainly imported. Have you any idea why?”

  “Not the slightest. It’s a complete mystery.”

  Baxter nodded. “Well, that’s all I can do for now. I’ll analyze the sample and let Steve Ames know exactly what it is, but I’m betting on carnotite. If you find a few hundred tons of it, you can sell it to the Atomic Energy Commission.So long.”

  The expert tipped his hat to the girls and walked to his car.

  “What was that all about?” Barby demanded. “You and Scotty seemed to know what he was talking about, but it was all Greek to Jan and me.”

  Bick explained on the way back to the farm. “There are four main kinds of radioactivity.

  They’re called alpha, beta, gamma, and neutrons. Our sample has alpha and gamma.

  That means it doesn’t come from either bomb debris or from a reactor, because fission takes place in both, and there is almost always beta activity as well as gamma in the products of fission. But some isotopes of uranium and thorium have little beta, with some alpha and gamma, so Baxter concluded we had powdered uranium ore. There are many kinds of ore. Pitchblende is the best, but carnotite, which is a gray rock with yellowish streaks, is also good ore. Got it now?”

  Jan Miller asked, “How do you knowall this, Rick?”

  The boy chuckled.“From associating with your father and mine, not to mention Weiss, Zircon, and the other scientists. They talk and Scotty and I listen. Also, Dad has a lot of books on atomic energy, and some of them are simple enough for me to read.”

  The Sky Wagon was over the Miller farm in a very short time, but before landing Rick made a swing of the area. The young people readily identified the mine and picnic grounds, and Rick pointed out the quarry into which he had tumbled.

  Scotty said, “Something’s been bothering me. If the Frostola man is new in this area, how could he have known the terrain well enough to lead us on that wild-goose chase?”

  “He’s new, but not that new,” Rick pointed out. “He’s had weeks in which to study the lay of the land. Besides, he does his haunting at night-if he’s the one-and he roams the fields near the mine. He must know his way around.”

  “You’re right,” Scotty assented. “Now tell me this: why did he take the cement bags?”

  “To keep us from finding out that they didn’t contain cement,” Rick said. “It has to be the reason. That means he knew about the bags, and maybe he even buried them. He didn’t bury them deep, because who would think anything of a bunch of cement bags, except a pair like us? Then, when he saw they had turned up, he collected them and took them somewhere else. The bags we found this morning may even be the same ones,

  although I think they’re a second set. He’d hide the first set better than he did at first.”

  “Your language is confused, but I get your meaning.” Scotty grinned. “Okay, detective.

  Set us down. It’s suppertime.”

  Rick swung into his landing pattern. “Anyway, we’ve made progress,” he commented with satisfaction. “We started with just a ghost. Now look what we’ve got!”

  CHAPTER XI

  The Ghost Reappears

  Belsely, the tenant farmer, had no difficulty in establishing a connection between Jethro Collins, real-estate agent, and the Frostola man. He made a quick trip to town on the morning following the flight toFalls Church , and reported that the ice-cream vendor was renting a room from Collins.

  “No doubt about that connection,” was Rick’s comment. Then, because they had not talked to Belsely at any length, he questioned the farmer about the appearances of the ghost in the fields nearby.

  “I’ve seen him four or five times, not counting the night you chased him,” the farmer said. “Funny thing about the night he got the alarm going on your plane.”

  “What was funny?” Scotty asked.

  “He was alone.”

  “But he’s always alone,” Rick exclaimed.

  “Nope.He’s alone at the mine, but when he walks the fields he has some of his men with him.Sometimes one, sometimes two or three. Only saw him alone that once-the night you chased him.”

  This was a new angle. Rick and Scotty looked at each other, puzzled.

  “You’ve seen the others?” Scotty asked.

  “Sure have. Not close to, you can bet.Got no wish to tangle with spirits, not me. But I saw them. They walked in the cornfield on top of the mine hill, and they walked in the field where your plane is. Theywaslookin ’ forsomethin ’.”

  “How do you know?” Rick demanded.

  “They’d walk, then stop, and bend over.Like they weresearchin ’ the ground. Bet one of

  ‘em lost a head and ishuntin ’ for it.”

  “Did you see where they came from, or went to?”

  “Not me. I got curiosity, but not the kind that killed that cat they tell about. Like I say,me and spirits don’t mix, none to speak of.”

  Rick pondered the information. “Are these ghostly walks atnine o’clock ?”

  “No.Mostly aroundmidnight.”

  Rick turned to Scotty. “What do you make of that?”

  “Nothing,” Scotty replied. “Not a thing. You say you’ve seen as many as three men plus the Blue Ghost?”

  “That’s correct. None of them shine like the Blue Ghost himself, though. Most curious thing I ever saw was the night they pulled a wagon,collectin ’ the invisible dead from the battlefield.”

  Rick’s hair had an impulse to stand on end. The calm, factual way in which the tenant farmer piled mystery on mystery was incredible.

  “You mean you saw ghosts pulling a ghost wagon?” the boy asked incredulously.

  “Like I said.More a cart than a wagon, I suppose you’d say. They hauled it back and forth, and the mist trailed out behind it. Once in a while they’d stop and gather and look at the ground. Must be they weresearchin ’ for their dead. Don’t know why else they’d need a wagon.And that Blue Thingleadin ’ the way every time.Up and down, back and forth.”

  Scotty asked, “Where were you while all this was going on?”

  “In the orchard, scared pink, but not so scared as curious.”

  A man of real courage, Rick thought. Believed in ghosts, but had the nerve to watch them in action. “Mr. Belsely, you said none of them shone like the Blue Ghost. Did the others look solid?”

  “Theywere dark shadows, that’s all. No moon to seeby, or at least not enough. Couldn’t

  make out what they looked like.”

  “Has anyone else s
een them in the fields?” Scotty wanted to know.

  “Sure enough.Two or three that I know of, maybe more.”

  The tenant farmer paused,then asked a question of his own. “Why are you so interested in this new ice-cream man?”

  Back considered. “He interested us,” he said finally. “He’s not a Virginian. And he didn’t seem to know much about the ghost.”

  Belsely’s comment broughtBack’s carefully built up assumptions tumbling down

  around his ears. “Oh, he knows about the ghost, all right. He saw it once that I know of, when he wassellin ’ ice cream to the girl campers.” The farmer added, “I wasstandin ’

  right next to him at the time.”

  Rick looked at Scotty helplessly. “Thank you, Mr. Belsely,” he said unhappily. “You’ve certainly given us plenty to think about!”

  The boys watched as the tenant farmer walked up the road to his own house, as solid and dependable as the very earth he walked on. There was no arguing with what he had seen, only with his interpretation of it. Clearly, Rick thought, he had seen figures in the fields on several occasions. But what had the figures actually been doing?

  “Don’t be too discouraged,” Scotty offered. “The ice-cream man seeing the ghost doesn’t mean he isn’t involved. Wasn’t the girls’ picnic the first time the ghost made a public appearance? He may have been checking on the way the ghost looked.”

  “What do you suppose Belsely was doing there?” Rick asked.

  “Probably just wandered over to see what was going on. I’ve noticed people are pretty casual about the affairs over there. No reason why Belsely wouldn’t take an

  eveningstroll to see how the party was going.”

  “Well keep our plan,” Rick decided. “It’s the only lead we have, so we’d better use it.”

  By the time the Sons of the Old Dominion started to arrive for the annual feast, the boys were in their chosen position, upstream from the mine at a point where they couldn’t fail to see all who traveled the road, but where no one could see them through the thick screen of foliage.