  Thinking over what had taken place that afternoon, and reviewing their own parts in the strange mystery, kept Sim and Arden rather silent on the drive back from Jim Danton’s home. Then, as they were almost back at the Hall, where Terry and Dot were waiting, Sim remarked seriously: “I don’t believe it’s anyone playing jokes.” “What do you mean—jokes?” asked Arden, her attention, which had wandered far afield, snapping back to the girl beside her in the roadster. “You said,” Sim replied, “that possibly somebody was playing a joke to cause these manifestations. It’s a pretty serious joke, if you ask me.” “I agree with you,” Arden answered. “But there are persons with a very strange sense of humor.” “I wish some of them had to fall down the ash-chute as Jim did!” Sim exclaimed snappishly. “It would jar some of the humor out of them.” “I don’t really believe I meant that, about it being a joke,” went on Arden. “But I’m determined to find out what’s at the bottom of it all. It must be real and it must have humans in it.” “And I’m with you!” declared Sim. “But I have a new thought, Arden!” “What, Mistress Sim?” asked Arden. “I declare I’m reverting to Colonial talk, thinking so much about this ancient place,” and she laughed. “But let me have your thought.” “Could it be labor troubles?” asked Sim. “I mean, could some other contractor, who resented Mr. Callahan having the job of tearing down this old mansion, be trying to scare his men off so Mr. Callahan would give up the contract? Isn’t that possible?” “Yes, possible.” “You know,” went on Sim, “while there may not be very much money for a contractor in just pulling down an old mansion, this one is of Revolutionary importance, and there may be what the boys would call ‘pickings,’ that would sell for a good sum.” “You mean like those hand-forged hooks in the closet where Jim disappeared from?” “Yes. So it may be that some rival contractor is trying to force Mr. Callahan to give up by frightening his men away.” “It’s an idea,” admitted Arden, after thinking it over. “But why haven’t some of these alleged jokers been caught?” “Because they have been working on the fears of ignorant men.” “You can’t exactly call Jim and his workers ignorant,” Arden objected. “No. But this is the first time anything happened to them. And it was all so mixed up, no proper search was made at the moment of the scare. If it had been, something might have been found out.” “Well, I hope we can find out something,” Arden suggested. “It’s sad to think of a poor man hurt on the first work he gets after months of idleness. And that little family was in a sad state.” “Yes. We must make sure that Mr. Callahan does something for them—workmen’s compensation relief or something like that.” Arden nodded. She was very thoughtful, and Sim, noticing that her chum’s thoughts had evidently taken a new turn, asked: “Have you any other theory as to how this happened to Jim?” “I was just wondering if anyone could have slipped into that closet, stolen up behind Jim, hit him on the head, and then put his unconscious body down the ash-chute?” “I don’t see how they could, with another man in the same room.” “No, I suppose not. Well, it’s baffling, certainly.” As they made a turn in the road which would put them on the main highway leading back to the Hall and Jockey Hollow, they saw a horseman leading a riderless mount coming out of the woods. “It’s Dick Howe!” exclaimed Arden. “Yes,” Sim agreed. The young groom saw them at the same moment and held back his horses until they could ride past, which they did, coming to a stop a little way beyond him. “Hello, Dick!” Arden greeted. “Afternoon, ladies—or I might almost say evening,” Dick answered. The slanting rays of the fast-setting sun shone on his face, and the girls were surprised to see that it was bleeding. He noticed their quick attention drawn to him and, putting up a hand to wipe away some trickling blood, remarked. “Yes, my horse got a bit skittish and ran me under a low branch. I hope it doesn’t leave a scar,” and he laughed lightly. “Is it deep?” asked Sim anxiously. “Not at all—just a scratch. I’ve been taking an old gentleman out for a canter—had to deliver a horse to him and lead it back—lead it both ways, in fact. And Highboy,” he patted his own mount, “is always troublesome with a led critter near him. He tried to bolt with me more than once. You girls going riding again soon?” “I hope so,” Sim said. “But you know, with Christmas just around the corner, we won’t have much time until after that and then we’ll have to go back to school.” “That’s so,” Dick agreed. “Well, turn all the business my way that you can, or, rather, Ellery’s way. We need it! And if I don’t see you again, why, Merry Christmas!” “The same to you,” they answered. Arden waved to Dick as Sim stepped on the accelerator, and the car shot away, leaving the young groom and his two horses bathed in the red sunset light, the crimson rays matching the blood on his cheek. “Rather queer,” remarked Sim as they made the last turn before reaching the road that ran past the Hall. “What?” asked Arden. “Dick getting hurt that way. I mean he’s such a good rider, you would think he might have ducked the branch that hit him.” “You can’t tell what a horse will do,” declared Arden. “What, just, did you mean?” “Well,” Sim went on, slowing down to avoid some ruts, “I was thinking it would be queer if Dick had been around the old Hall when Jim was hurt and maybe he got hurt the same way—or something like it.” “But Dick wasn’t there. He was off with an old gentleman going for a ride.” “Yes, I suppose so. Well, it was only a notion. But there are enough queer things happening—this would only be one of them. Betty was there at the house, you know.” “But I’m sure Dick wasn’t. Look, there are Terry and Dot waiting for us.” They saw the two girls walking up and down in front of the Hall. The afternoon was fast passing. They had spent more time than they realized. “So you finished your visit with Granny?” asked Sim. “Yes, we had tea again. Betty is very nice. So is Granny. But the cousin—she’s queer,” related Terry. “Oh, so you met Viney Tucker?” asked Arden. “She poked herself in at us,” said Dot. “But what happened to you?” Arden and Sim told, and said something about the strange closet. “Let’s go in now and have a look at it while none of the workmen is around,” suggested Arden enthusiastically. “No, it’s too dark!” objected Terry. “I don’t believe in ghosts any more than you do, but going in that queer old house when it’s as dark as it’s going to be soon, doesn’t appeal to me.” “Nor me!” said Dot. She and Terry climbed into the rumble seat, and they were all soon back at Sim’s house. The way seemed short, for they had plenty to talk about. It was quite dark when they arrived. Moselle opened the door for them and exclaimed: “I sure am glad you-all have come back!” There was a tone of relieved anxiety in her voice. “Why?” drawled Sim. “Have you been seeing ghosts, too, Moselle?” “No. But a gentleman named Harry Pangborn has been telephonin’ an’ telephonin’ all the afternoon, wantin’ to know when you-all would be back. He seemed quite set up about it. I couldn’t give him any satisfaction. But he——” The telephone jingled smartly. “That must be him again!” exclaimed Moselle scurrying in. “Harry Pangborn!” cried Terry. “What a delightful surprise!” voiced Sim. “I wonder what he wants?” murmured Arden. |
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