“So do I.”
Arden, who happened to answer the telephone to take the message from Harry, reported to the other girls, and Sim said:
“I think we ought to go over to the Hall and see whether Harry’s idea of a warm and cozy room can be carried out in this cold spell.”
“Not a bad idea,” agreed Arden.
“Oh, I wish I could go!” sighed Terry, looking at her bandaged foot.
“Don’t chance it!” warned Dorothy. “You’ll want to be at the party. I’ll stay here with you, Terry, if Arden and Sim want to prance down to the Hall and look it over.”
“Let’s, Sim!” Arden exclaimed. “Only we won’t prance. We’ll go in the car.”
To this Sim agreed and, the housekeeping plans for the day having been disposed of, she and Arden started out in the sturdy little roadster. It had stopped snowing, and the sun was shining brightly with a dazzling luster on the white ground. It was snappy and cold, so the girls wore furs and arctics, for they wanted to walk around near the Hall. That opportunity always fascinated them.
Reaching the Hall, they tramped up the steps. Sim and Arden pushed open the heavy front door and stood with their heads just within the hall, listening before venturing in all the way.
“No use taking any chances,” Sim remarked.
“What chances?” Arden asked, though, as a matter of fact, the same thought was in her own mind.
“Well, ghosts or some irresponsible workmen who might be camping out in here since they had the last séance.”
“Or tramps,” suggested Arden.
“Say, there’s a thought!” Sim exclaimed. “Perhaps tramps have been creating all this disturbance.”
“Why would they?” Arden was discounting her own suggestion.
“A band or bunch or school or congregation—whatever group tramps fit into—might have picked this place as hide-out, hang-out, or rendezvous, or whatever the proper term is,” said Sim, laughing. “And they might object to being dispossessed in the winter. They might even have hit upon the plan of making ghostly noises and manifestations to scare away the workmen. Then, if their scheme worked, they would be left in peaceful possession.”
“But we didn’t find any tramps here,” objected Arden. “And Harry didn’t find any. And surely they would have piled back in here after the workmen had gone—if there is a gang of tramps playing tricks.”
“Well, maybe I’m wrong,” Sim admitted. “Anyhow, there seems to be no one in here now, so let’s have a look at the room where we are to have Granny’s Christmas party. I’m game.”
The old Hall echoed weirdly to their footsteps, echoes that always seemed to dwell in untenanted houses. But the girls were not nervous. They were only going into that one room which was close to the entrance, and if anything happened they could run out quickly.
But nothing happened. There were no screams, not even a sigh, except that of the wind. There were no thumping boots coming down the stairs and no rustling red cloaks.
“I think we can very nicely use this room,” said Arden, looking around the big long double parlor containing the immense fireplace and the picture of Patience Howe. “It can be closed off from the rest of the house. Not a window or a door has been broken.”
“And with a roaring fire on the hearth,” added Sim, “we shall be quite cozy here. Anyhow, we shan’t be here very long. But I think your idea of telling Granny the good news here is just wonderful!”
“Thanks,” murmured Arden. “I hope it is a spectacular success.”
They did not wander through any other part of the house to see if they could collect enough chairs or other pieces of furniture for seats. They took it for granted that they could manage other details, and then, having made sure that the old chimney was unobstructed—they looked up and could see daylight—so the fire would not smoke, they finally left.
“Let’s walk around a bit,” suggested Arden.
“Why not?” agreed Sim. “Walking around here is our greatest outdoor sport.”
They were well clothed and shod for tramping in the snow, so they began a circuit of the strange mansion. There was no sign, anywhere, that anyone but themselves had entered since Harry Pangborn made his investigation the day before.
They walked down what had once been a lane, arbored with grapevines and hedged in now with ugly tall weeds that thrust themselves up through the snow. In the distance were some gnarled trees and a small stone building. They had not noticed it before, but now, against the white ground, it stood up boldly.
“I wonder what that is?” asked Sim.
“Let’s go see,” suggested Arden.
They passed into the little grove of apple trees, Arden remarking how much some of them resembled those in the strange orchard at Cedar Ridge. Then she suddenly uttered a cry of delight.
“What is it?” Sim asked.
“Mistletoe!”
“No! Really?”
“I think so. Anyhow, it’s some sort of a bush with white berries on. Look!”
“It does seem like mistletoe,” agreed Sim. “But I thought that was found only down South.”
“I thought so too. But, anyhow, we can pretend this is mistletoe, it looks so much like it,” laughed Arden.
“Why should we want to pretend? Let’s be bold and say it is mistletoe!”
“Moselle might know the difference. But I’m with you to the hilt, comrade! Mistletoe it is!” Arden began quickly to gather the white-berried branches which, fortunately, broke off, making it unnecessary to cut them, which the girls couldn’t have done, as they had brought no knife.
Sim was pulling at a particularly large branch when they were suddenly startled by hearing the creaking of a door on rusty hinges. Then a voice, almost snarling in its tones, called loudly:
“What are you doing here?”
Arden and Sim had walked along until they were close to the small old stone house. But they were so interested in gathering the mistletoe that they had not noticed the slow opening of the door.
Then came the challenge.
The girls swung about in startled fear and heard the rasping voice demand again:
“What are you doing here?”
CHAPTER XXIV
A Strange Woman
In real panic, Arden and Sim wheeled about, dropping some of the branches they had treasured. Fairly glaring at them from the small stone building was Viney Tucker. She wore a heavy black cloak and had on a black bonnet from the edges of which had escaped several wisps of straggling gray hair. What a startling picture she presented!
“What do you want here?” she asked again.
“Oh, how do you do!” greeted Sim, though the words were rather shaky. She had heard about the queer cousin from the other girls and felt she knew Viney well enough not to be afraid of her.
“I’m as well as I ever expect to be,” was the somewhat ungracious answer, and she gave the old bonnet a vicious tug.
“We thought you were away,” Arden told her kindly.
“Who told you that?” she snapped.
“Dick.”
“Hum! Young folks know too much nowadays. It was different in my time. Then children were seen and not heard!”
“Do you—do you object to us taking some of this mistletoe?” asked Arden.
“Mistletoe! That isn’t mistletoe, though lots of folks think it is. No, I can’t say I object. This place isn’t anybody’s now. Do as you like. Turn out the rightful owners!” Her voice was vindictive.
“We aren’t turning anyone out.” Sim tried to make her voice very gentle. Really she felt sorry for the old lady, who did not seem to have the resigned spirit of Granny Howe.
“Well, the state is doing it, and you’re part of the state, aren’t you? I am, so you must be.”
“Yes, I suppose we can call ourselves citizens of the state,” admitted Arden.
“Well, the state is turning me and my cousin out of our property. Making a park of it for folks to ride horses in and birds to feed i
n. Bah! Don’t talk to me! The state! I’d state ’em if I had my way!”
“Please don’t blame us,” urged Sim. “We really would love to help you and Granny Howe get money for this place and perhaps—”
“Ahem!” coughed Arden loudly.
“Better get back home where you belong, not out here catching cold!” snapped Viney Tucker. “Terrible weather! I hate snow!”
“I guess she hates everything and everybody,” thought Arden.
The strange old woman stood in the open doorway of the old stone building. From the footprints in the snow the girls could easily guess that she had recently entered it. Also it was plain that she had come from over a distant hill and not from Granny Howe’s cottage, which nestled in a little hollow about a quarter of a mile back of the old Hall.
“Then you don’t mind if we take some of this mistletoe?” asked Sim, after a pause.
“No! Why should I? You can settle with the state,” and she laughed scornfully. “It doesn’t belong to my folks any more. Only don’t call it mistletoe.”
“What is it?” asked Sim.
“How should I know? I’m not a botanist or a bird-sanctuary teacher.”
Really Viney Tucker must have arisen from the wrong side of her bed that morning, Sim reflected. She surely was cross.
“So you didn’t go away?” asked Arden, wondering what the next move would be.
“Yes, I did. Went to stay with Sairy Pendleton. But she and I never could get along, so I came back. I came out here to the old smokehouse to get away from everybody. Folks get on my nerves—more than often! This old smokehouse sort of sets me up—better than the perfume you girls use. Bah!”
Sim and Arden were aware of a distinctly smoky odor floating out to them above the head of Viney Tucker. They were aware, now, of the use to which the small stone building had formerly been put. In the old days hams and bacon were cured there over a fire of hickory branches and corncobs, and that smoky smell always remained. It was a curious whim of the old lady to come there for solitude; surely lonely and uncanny.
“Well, if you’ve got all that wrongly called mistletoe you want,” Viney Tucker suggested after rather an awkward pause, “you might as well take yourselves back home so you won’t catch cold.”
“Won’t you catch cold, staying out in this bleak place?” asked Sim.
“No. I never catch cold. It’s only this soft new generation that catches colds. Silly of ’em. Good-bye!”
She popped back into the smokehouse and closed the door.
Sim and Arden stood there, looking at each other in astonishment.
“Come on,” Sim whispered after a pause. “We have enough—mistletoe and smokehouses.”
“Yes,” Arden agreed. “Let’s go.”
“And enough of such a strange woman,” added Sim as they walked away from the smokehouse.
“She is strange,” Arden agreed. “But I feel sorry for her.”
“So do I, in a way. But I feel a lot more sorry for Granny Howe. She takes it standing up. This creature whines and moans.”
“She does,” Arden admitted. “But different people have a different way of taking adversity. Granny is sweet and serene.”
“And Viney Tucker is bitter—but not sweet. Oh, well, it takes all sorts to make a world. This will be something to tell Terry and Dot, won’t it?”
“Indeed it will.”
“I wonder why she comes to such a lonesome smelly place as the old smokehouse to brood over her troubles?”
“It must bring back the days when she was a girl,” suggested Arden. “I’ve heard my father, who was born on a farm, tell how they used to smoke hams and bacon in a little house like that one.” She looked back toward it. There was no sign of Viney Tucker. She had shut herself in the strange place. “Probably,” went on Arden, “Viney used to help smoke the hams out here. They must have had a delicious flavor.”
“Not like the chemically prepared hams we have to eat,” Sim surmised. “Moselle was saying, only yesterday, that she wished she had a Smithfield razor-back ham to bake with cloves for Christmas.”
“Maybe Mrs. Tucker could supply one,” suggested Arden.
“I wouldn’t ask her.”
“No, I don’t believe it would be wise. But isn’t it queer of her to go off visiting, and then return and go sit out in an old smokehouse?”
“Very queer,” agreed Sim.
Carrying their “mistletoe,” the girls went back to their parked car. As they were passing the Hall, they noticed the front door was closed as they had left it. There were no footprints in the snow other than those they themselves had made.
“Hark!” suddenly exclaimed Arden as they were at the edge of the sagging old front porch.
“What?” asked Sim.
“Didn’t you hear a noise?”
“Where?”
They stood still and listened.
There was no doubt of it. Echoing footsteps were coming from the old mansion. Faint but unmistakable. They floated out of one of the upper windows, the frame of which had been torn away by the wreckers.
“Someone is in there!” whispered Sim.
“Well, they can stay there for all I’ll ever do to get them out!” gasped Arden. “Come on!”
They ran back to the car, not pausing to listen any further.
Tossing their branches into the rumble seat, the two girls climbed into the roadster. Sim’s trembling foot pressed the starter switch.
“Oh, I’m so glad it went off with a bang like that,” she murmured as the motor chugged into service. Steering rather wildly, Sim shot up the hill and out upon the main road and away from Jockey Hollow.
“What do you think it was?” asked Arden when they had their hearts and breaths under control.
“Haven’t the least idea.”
“We must tell Harry.”
“Of course. He may be able to figure out how noises can come from an old house when there isn’t a single mark in the snow to show that anyone has entered.”
“The scream happened that same way; no one went in, but the scream came out, he said.”
“Oh, it’s all so mysterious!” sighed Sim. “Shall we ever be able to solve it? Seems to me it gets worse.”
“I hope we can solve it,” said her companion solemnly.
They created quite a sensation when they reached Sim’s house, not only with the “mistletoe,” over which Dot went into wild raptures, but with their story of Viney Tucker and the strange noises.
“What a queer old woman,” said Dorothy. “I wouldn’t want to meet her alone in the dark.”
“Oh, I guess she’s just a poor old crank whose troubles have gotten the best of her,” said Arden. “I feel sorry for her.”
“She must be a trial to Granny Howe,” suggested Terry, who seemed much improved.
“Granny isn’t the sort that gives way to trials,” said Sim. “Oh, it will be so wonderful if we can help her!”
“Leave it to Harry,” said Arden. “And, by the way, don’t you think we had better tell him the latest happening?”
“Of course,” said Dorothy quickly. “Shall I telephone him?”
“Why—er—yes,” said Sim slowly, with a quick look at Arden and Terry.
“I’ll tell him to come over to dinner, shall I?” Her eyes were shining.
“Yes,” said Sim, smiling a little. “Harry is always welcome.”
“And if he can make anything out of this latest development,” said Arden, “he’s a wonder.”
“I think he’s quite wonderful anyway,” said Terry, snuggling a little deeper down in the bed. “Wasn’t he grand when he let us give him up and collect the reward?”
“Them was the happy days!” laughed Arden.
“I’m going to phone,” called Dot from the hall.
CHAPTER XXV
The Christmas Party
Harry Pangborn came over to dinner and to spend the evening. It was a most delightful meal, for Moselle and Althea had done their best
, which was very good indeed. But it was the talk, the banter and laughter that lent spice to the food. Young folks are inimitable at that sort of thing.
“It certainly is mystifying,” Harry had to admit when he was told, more in detail, what Dot had sketched to him over the telephone about the “mistletoe” experience of Sim and Arden. “Very strange. You say there was no more sign of other footprints than your own?”
“Not a sign,” declared Sim.
“Could you gather why Viney Tucker was in the old smokehouse?”
“Only that it was a queer whim,” said Arden, “and she is queer.”
“Yes, such a character as hers would be whimmy.” He lighted a cigarette. Dinner was almost over.
“Is this mistletoe?” asked Dot, bringing out a branch from those her chums had gathered. “You might know, being a bird man.”
“I should think one would need to be a ladies’ man to judge mistletoe,” said Mr. Pangborn, with a laugh and a glance at each of the girls in turn. Terry was downstairs for the first time since her accident.
“Not bad! Not half bad!” laughed Arden. “But do you confirm Viney’s denial? Is it or is it not—mistletoe?”
“No, it isn’t mistletoe,” he said after an examination. “But I suppose it will answer the same purpose. Where are you going to hang it? I should like to know in advance.”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” mocked Dorothy.
“I must take a piece with me and put it in Granny Howe’s hair the night of the Christmas party,” said Harry, handing back to Dot the plant she had given him. “I shall claim the privilege on the eve of the holiday.”
“Like this?” Dot challenged with mischief in her eyes as she thrust the clump of white berries into her own blonde hair and then ran laughing from the room.
It was a merry little group. Mr. Pangborn said everything was in readiness to announce to Granny, with the sanction of the head of the State Park Commission, that at least she would have a new chance to prove her claim.
“And about the party,” suggested Arden. “Just what are we going to do at it?”
“We shall need some refreshments, I suppose,” said Sim. “I can get Moselle to arrange about that. We can pack them into my car and take them to the Hall. Only we’ll be a bit crowded in the roadster.”
The Girl Detective Megapack: 25 Classic Mystery Novels for Girls Page 174