We said goodbye to the Gains family and drove on toward White Falls. Since I’d antagonized Glen Conrad, I wondered what kind of reception we’d get when we reached our destination.
“I wonder if he really does own that shed?” I said. “I suppose he must, or he wouldn’t have created such a disturbance.”
“How silly to get so excited over a deserted shack. The Gains weren’t doing the place any particular harm.”
“Glen Conrad just has meanness in his blood.”
We reached White Falls and parked in front of Old Mansion. The upstairs shutters were closed, and there was no sign of life. However, Glen Conrad’s battered car stood on the street, so we knew that he had arrived ahead of us.
Flo rang the bell. The door was flung open, and Mrs. Conrad confronted us, her eyes blazing.
“You’re not wanted here. Go away and mind you, don’t come back!”
She started to close the door, but I blocked it with my foot.
“Really, we had nothing to do with your husband’s unfortunate accident,” I said. “Please, may we see Emma just for a moment?”
“No, you cannot.”
“What right do you have to refuse?” I demanded.
Mrs. Conrad’s answer was to slam shut the door, barely missing my foot.
“I’ll ring again,” said Florence. “I’ll hold my finger on the bell until she comes back.”
“No, that would only get Emma into more trouble,” I said.
“It’s not right that she has to work in such a place.”
“I agree with you there, Florence.”
“We have to talk her into returning to Greenville with us.”
“Something has gone wrong here,” I said. “I get the feeling that we wouldn’t have been welcome even if Mr. Conrad hadn’t fallen into the river. Emma knows something, and the Conrads are afraid she’ll tell us!”
“If you believe that, Jane, let’s see her even if we have to break down the house.”
“We might just try the rear door, first” I suggested, “before we commence taking down the house board by board.”
We crept around to the back entrance. The kitchen door was closed. I tried the knob. It was locked.
“Lift me up so that I can peep into the window,” I said. “If Emma is there, I’ll signal her.”
Flo lifted me up, but it was an exercise in futility.
“The kitchen is deserted,” I reported.
“What do you suppose became of Emma?”
“I’m feeling very uneasy. It was so strange the way she broke off our conversation.”
“Yes, and all the talk about mysterious disappearances from room seven,” Florence added. “Wouldn’t it be dreadful if anything had happened to Emma? It would be our fault for bringing her here.”
“Don’t say such a thing, Flo. Emma must be all right.”
“I don’t feel like returning home unless we are certain of it.”
“Neither do I. Let’s try Thom Vhorst. Maybe he knows something.”
The café owner was busy refilling the coffee urn when we walked in. We sat at the counter and ordered two pieces of pie.
“Gettin’ to be regular callers in our town, aren’t you?” Mrs. Vhorst said.
“We came to see our friend next door,” I explained. “Only Mrs. Conrad wouldn’t let us talk with her.”
“You don’t say? Reckon maybe she’s a mite upset this morning.”
“Upset? About what, may I ask?”
“Well,” said Thom Vhorst, vigorously polishing the coffee urn, “I wouldn’t know, but folks say things have been happening in that house.”
“You mean the disappearance?”
“Yes, I reckon maybe Mrs. Conrad is worried for fear the police may come around and ask a few questions.”
“Why don’t you report the matter, Mr. Vhorst?”
“Not me! It’s none of my business. Anyway, I ain’t sure that anything happened—things just look mighty odd.”
I took a bite of pie as I studied the café owner’s reflection in the mirror behind the counter.
“Mr. Vhorst,” I said, “I don’t suppose you noticed a car drive up at Old Mansion yesterday.”
“Gray one, wasn’t it?”
“I imagine so. Mr. Harwood, an acquaintance of my father’s, came here to see the Conrads. He’s a middle-sized middle-aged man with an energetic gait. Yesterday, he was wearing a brown suit.”
“Sure, I saw that fellow go into the mansion, but I never did see him come out.”
“You don’t mean something happened to him!” Flo said.
“No, I’m not sayin’ anything like that. For all I know, he may have driven off during the night. His car set out front till around midnight, after that I went to bed, and when I opened up this morning, the car was gone.”
“What time do you open the café?
“Yesterday, it was just before seven.”
“The man may have left town early,” I suggested, although I didn’t think it very likely.
“Yes, reckon that’s what happened,” Mr. Vhorst said.
“Have you seen anything of our friend Emma?” Flo asked.
“I seen her hanging up a washing not an hour ago.”
“Then I guess nothing too dreadful has happened,” I said when Florence and I were back outside. “Emma must be all right if Mr. Vhorst saw her hanging out washing. As far as Mr. Harwood is concerned, I don’t know what to think.”
“Thom Vhorst distrusts the Conrads so greatly that I judge he’s apt to jump to conclusions,” Flo said. “But he certainly was hinting that Mr. Harwood had disappeared mysteriously.”
“I thought so at first, and then he denied it. I really believe we can’t go much by what Mr. Vhorst does say.”
“We might drop in at the laundry and ask a few questions.”
“No, that fellow Ralph may be a Sheik, but he still gives me the heebie-jeebies,” I said. “I doubt that he would know anything, and if he did, he’d not be likely to tell us.”
We sauntered back to Bouncing Betsy, uncertain of what to do next. I glanced at the upper story of Old Mansion.
“There she is now, Flo!”
Emma was standing by the window of her room, half hidden by the curtain. She was frantically signaling to us.
“What is she trying to tell us?” Florence asked.
“I think she wants us to stay put. I do believe she intends to sneak out of the house and meet us.”
CHAPTER 13
Emma could not be expected to join us in front of the house, so we walked past the laundry, and stationed ourselves behind some bushes where we could watch the front door of Old Mansion. While we waited, a car drove up in front of the laundry. Three men got out. They did not notice us in the bushes and hurried inside.
After a few minutes, the door of Old Mansion opened, but it was not Emma who emerged. Glen Conrad, dressed in a dry suit, closed the gate behind him. With a deep scowl on his face, he walked up the street in our direction. He paused for a moment in front of the laundry, looked up at the windows, and then moved on. He, too, failed to detect our presence.
“I wonder what is keeping Emma?” Florence said. “Perhaps, we misunderstood her signals.”
Just at that moment, we saw Emma come around the corner of the house. I emerged from my hiding place and waved to her. Emma glanced over her shoulder, then ran to us.
“I have only a minute to talk,” she said breathlessly. “Mrs. Conrad mustn’t know that I have slipped away from the house.”
“Tell us what has happened, Emma,” I said. “Why did you hang up the receiver this morning when I was talking with you?”
“Because Mrs. Conrad was coming. She warned me that I was to tell you nothing.”
“What did you start to say about Mr. Harwood?”
“It was awful,” Emma said. “He came to Old Mansion yesterday afternoon to inquire about a friend of his, a man named Merriweather.”
“I know,” I said. “Merriweather spe
nt a night at Old Mansion some days ago.”
“Mrs. Conrad claims he didn’t.”
“But I am certain of my facts,” I said Jane. “His name is on the register.”
“It is?” Emma said. “That’s funny because I examined the book myself this morning.”
“And the name wasn’t there? It should have been just above mine.”
“It wasn’t, Jane.”
“Then the Conrads have either erased it or used ink eradicator.”
“They may have. I know Mr. and Mrs. Conrad were terribly upset when Mr. Harwood arrived.”
“What did they tell him?” Flo asked.
“I heard part of the conversation. They tried to convince him that Merriweather hadn’t stayed at the house overnight.”
“Did Mr. Harwood accept their story?”
“He acted suspicious of it. Possibly, that was why he decided to stay all night.”
“Mr. Harwood remained at Old Mansion?” I asked.
“Yes, I’m sure the Conrads didn’t like it very much. They had an argument over which room they would put him in.”
“Not number seven, surely?” I said.
Emma nodded.
“I heard the Conrads discussing it when they thought no one was listening. Glen told his wife: ‘It will serve the inquisitive fool right to sleep in that room. Maybe if he gets a good scare, he won’t be so impertinent!’”
“And Mrs. Conrad’s reply?”
“Oh, she protested, but Glen overruled her. Mr. Harwood’s things were taken up to room seven.”
“And then what happened?” I asked. “Was there a disturbance during the night?”
“I heard a faint cry,” Emma said. “Then a splashing sound as if something had fallen into the river. I can’t explain it, but the strangest feeling went over me—I sensed that some dreadful thing had happened to Mr. Harwood.”
“What did you do?” asked Florence.
“I slipped on my robe and ran to Mrs. Conrad’s room. She and her husband were already awake.”
“They had heard the same noise?”
“I suppose so. We all went together to room seven, but it had been locked from the inside. Mr. Conrad called to Mr. Harwood several times, but there was no answer.”
“The man wasn’t—dead?” Florence gasped.
“Mr. Conrad had a master key,” Emma went on, seeming not to hear Flo’s question. “He opened the door, but Mr. Harwood wasn’t there. His bed had been slept in, but the man had vanished!”
“But his clothing was still in the room?” I asked.
“Yes, nothing appeared to have been touched, but the window overlooking the river was open. That was all that seemed amiss, aside from an odd floral smell in the room. I thought that perhaps Mr. Harwood had spilled some aftershave, but Mr. Conrad gave me a very odd look when I suggested it. Both he and Mrs. Conrad claimed that they smelled nothing at all. Perhaps the smell was the reason the window had been left open. I can think of no other, as it was a very cool evening.”
“Is it possible that Mr. Harwood deliberately jumped into the river?” Flo asked.
“I don’t think so,” Emma replied. “But Mr. Conrad insists that there’s no question but that he did.”
“You’re sure you heard a splash?” I asked.
“Yes, but if Mr. Harwood’s body went into the river last night, I’m convinced he never jumped.”
“And I agree with you,” I said. “How did the Conrads act when they discovered Mr. Harwood was gone?”
“They were both terribly upset, especially Mrs. Conrad.”
“Could they have been acting a part?”
“I don’t believe so, Jane. Mrs. Conrad carried on dreadfully for quite some time. She was so ill over the affair, she stayed in bed nearly all of the morning.”
“Has Mr. Conrad notified the police yet?”
“I should say not! He said it would ruin him if the news was spread over the town. During the night, he drove Mr. Harwood’s car away somewhere, and he disposed of every item Mr. Harwood left behind in the room.”
“He could get into serious trouble for doing that,” I said.
“Mr. and Mrs. Conrad both warned me that I must never breathe a word of what happened last night. They have watched me almost every minute since.”
“How did you get away just now?” Flo asked.
“Mr. Conrad went away somewhere, and Mrs. Conrad lay down for a moment and fell asleep.”
“She and her husband must be completely crazy to think they can hide anything like that from the police,” I said. “It looks as if what Thom Vhorst told us wasn’t idle gossip. This makes two people who have disappeared from room seven.”
“Mrs. Conrad made me clean up the room this morning. While I was dusting and running the sweeper, I was so frightened my knees actually knocked together.”
“Do you really believe that the eyes of the portraits move?” I asked. I was still disinclined to believe Emma’s story, but perhaps I shouldn’t have been so quick to dismiss it as hysteria.
“Perhaps they don’t really move,” Emma acknowledged. “But they seemed alive. While I was cleaning the room, I felt as if four pairs of human eyes were focused on me.”
“Nerves probably,” Flo said.
“I’ll be a wreck if I remain in that house very much longer,” Emma said. “Such sinister goings-on in there.”
“It’s fairly easy to understand why Merriweather might have disappeared mysteriously,” I said. “He was carrying valuable jewels.”
“You think the Conrads may have robbed him?” Florence asked.
“No, I’m not venturing an opinion. But it does strike me that Mr. Harwood must have met foul play because he learned something which pointed the finger at the scoundrel responsible for Mr. Merriweather’s disappearance.”
“Perhaps no person had anything to do with it,” suggested Emma. “I don’t believe in ghosts, but it seems to me we’ve run into something which can’t be explained. There’s an atmosphere about that house, especially room seven which defies explanation. If you were to stay there a day or so—”
“I’d like to have a chance to do it,” I said. “But Mrs. Conrad won’t even allow me to get near the front door.”
“One thing is clear,” said Florence. “After what has happened, Emma can’t stay alone in that house another night.”
“I’m ready to go back to Greenville with you,” Emma said. “I’d prefer to starve than go on like this.”
“Of course, we’ll be glad to take you with us,” I said, “only I have an idea—”
“Don’t listen to it, Emma,” warned Florence. “Her ideas nearly always mean trouble for someone.”
“This one might prove dangerous,” I admitted. “I haven’t any right to ask it of you, Emma.”
“What is it you want me to do?”
“When it becomes known that two persons have disappeared at Old Mansion, it will mean a big story,” I said. “Every paper in this part of the country will send reporters here, trying to get the inside facts. Now here is my idea: I thought if you could bear to stay on for a day or two, Dad would have an inside track on just what is happening. He’d pay you well for your work.”
“I wouldn’t stay in that house another night for a million dollars,” said Emma.
“I understand,” I said. “It wasn’t right of me to ask you to do it.”
“I wouldn’t do it for a million dollars,” said Emma. “But I’ll do it for you, Jane, and for poor Mr. Harwood. The next few days are our best hope of getting to the bottom of what really happened.”
I had underestimated Emma. I smiled at her.
“If our plan is to succeed,” she said. “I must get back to the kitchen before Mrs. Conrad learns that I have left the house.”
CHAPTER 14
We left Emma behind to be our eyes and ears at Old Mansion and started out for Greenville.
We had traveled seven miles or so when we came to a tributary of the Grassy River. As we
crossed the bridge, Florence cried out. I slammed on the brakes.
“What is it, Flo?”
“See that houseboat half hidden by the willows?”
I brought the car to a standstill on the bridge.
“No, I don’t see anything.”
“Far down the river, Jane. Almost at the bend.”
“Oh, yes, now I do. There are dozens of houseboats in this river district. But it does have a green stack!”
“That’s what I noticed. Could it be Mud Cat’s missing houseboat?”
I pulled off at the side, and we waded through the dense bushes growing along the river bank. It was slow going. Burs and nettles clung to our stockings and skirts.
“There goes yet another pair of shoes,” I said. “When I stepped off that log—"
“Listen!” Flo commanded, halting.
It was a gasoline engine.
We scrambled through the bushes and briers, reaching the river just in time to see the houseboat vanishing far downstream. Already, it had traveled such a distance that we couldn’t get a good look at it.
“That may have been Mud Cat’s stolen boat!” I said.
“It certainly has a powerful engine. I never saw a houseboat slip along so fast.”
We watched until it vanished beyond another bend. There was no hope of further pursuit. There was no automobile road along the river at this point.
“I’ll send word to Mud Cat Joe just as soon as I can,” I said. “It would delay us too long to return to his place now.”
“Yes, the houseboat may not belong to Mud Cat anyway. Even a green smokestack isn’t exactly conclusive evidence.”
I wanted to tell my father about Mr. Harwood’s disappearance as soon as possible, so I took Florence home, and then went directly to the newspaper office.
“Dad,” I said, “you have a new reporter on your staff.”
“Meaning yourself?” Dad asked, brightening. Hope springs eternal, I guess.
“No, Emma Brown.”
Dad grimaced, but before he could protest, I told him about Mr. Harwood’s disappearance.
“That’s a rather fantastical story, Jane!”
Sinister Goings-on in Room Seven: A Jane Carter Historical Cozy (Book Two) (Jane Carter Historical Cozy Mysteries 2) Page 7