  Harry tilted the lid of the chest back against the wall, and with both hands now free was thus able to flash the beams of his torch into the box, which was what Dorothy also was doing. The double illumination revealed other garments in the long narrow box. Henry lifted out the old Continental soldier uniform—coat, trousers, a hat, and the heavy boots. “They have been worn recently,” he said. “Not much dust on them.” “And the cloak?” asked Dorothy in a tense voice. “That, also, has very little dust on it,” he said, lifting it out. Then a daring project came into Dorothy’s mind. “I dare you,” she said, “to dress up as the old soldier—just the coat, hat, and boots—and walk with me, in masquerade, into the room where Granny is telling a ghost story. I’ll put on the red cloak—and this!” She reached in and lifted from the chest a white kerchief and a sort of tam-o’-shanter cap. “Let’s be two live ghosts,” she proposed. “It will be a fitting end to the Christmas party, and then—well, you said you thought we were near the end of the ghost trail.” “I really believe we are. Somebody has been using these garments to create all this ghost atmosphere in the old Hall. Dorothy, I’ll take your dare, and after we have had our fun we will start a new investigation and try to find out who has been responsible for all this.” “This is going to be good!” murmured the girl, a natural actress, as she threw the red cloak about her shoulders after adjusting the kerchief as it might have been worn in Colonial days, crossed on her breast. With the cap jauntily askew on her head, she looked very like the reputed ghost of Patience Howe. Harry slipped off his shoes, put on the heavy boots, donned the coat and hat, and they were ready. With flashlights held out in front of them to illuminate the dark hall, they started for the lower room whence faintly floated up the laughter following Granny Howe’s story. “It’s time we started back,” whispered Dorothy. “They will miss us in another moment.” They were near the head of the stairs when, suddenly, the door of a room opened slightly and a light gleamed through the crack. It was the room containing the mysterious closet from which Jim Danton had so strangely vanished, to be found in the cellar. The door opened wider. Then an old woman, an old woman with a wrinkled face and straggling gray hair, looked out. In one hand she held a small flashlight. She glared at Harry and Dorothy in their masquerade costumes, and then a look of deadly fear came over her face. She uttered several wild and piercing screams and turned back into the room, still gibbering and gasping. A second later there was the sound of something wooden moving inside the room—a sound followed by a resounding blow, as though the heavy lid of a chest had fallen. Another wild scream and then silence. “Oh!” gasped Dorothy. “What is it? Who is she?” “Must be that Viney Tucker, cousin of Granny’s,” exclaimed Harry. “But what was she doing up here? We must have frightened the wits out of her. And I’m afraid something has happened.” He hurried into the room, followed by Dorothy. The closet door was open and their lights, flashing within it, revealed a square hole in the floor—a square hole opening into a smooth wooden chute that curved downward and into the darkness. And from that darkness now came up faint moans. “This is awful!” cried Dorothy. “What have we done?” “We haven’t done anything, but I think we have made a big discovery!” said Harry. “This trapdoor explains how Jim got into the cellar and I think that’s where we’ll now find Mrs. Tucker. She has been caught in her own trap!” By this time the Christmas guests in the room below had come running out with their flashlights, calling up to know what was going on. Harry hurried down the stairs, followed by Dorothy. “The ghosts!” screamed Terry, pointing a trembling finger at them. “No!” Harry shouted for he wanted to prevent any more hysterical outbursts. “It’s just a little joke Dorothy and I started, but I’m afraid it is far from a joke now.” “What do you mean?” asked Granny Howe in a strained voice. “And where did you get those clothes?” “We’ll explain it all in a moment,” answered Harry. “But just now I think we had better see about your cousin, Mrs. Howe.” “You mean Viney Tucker? What’s the matter with her? Who did that awful screaming just now?” “Mrs. Tucker; and I am afraid she has fallen down a secret passage into the cellar.” “Oh, how terrible!” gasped Arden. “But what does it all mean?” Sim exclaimed. “I think,” said Harry, “it means the end of the ghosts in the old Hall. Come along, any of you who wish to—if you aren’t afraid—but perhaps Dick and I——” “We’ll all come!” declared Granny bravely. “Poor Viney! She wouldn’t attend the Christmas party with me. She must have taken a sudden notion and come over by herself—but a secret passage to the cellar—I don’t understand!” “We’ll have it all cleared up soon, I think,” Harry said. “There must be an inside way into the cellar, isn’t there?” “I’ll show you,” offered Granny. “It’s at the back of the hall, and there’s also one leading out of the old kitchen. The hall way is nearer.” They found Viney Tucker lying in about the same place where Betty had discovered Jim Danton. The grim old lady in the black cloak was faintly moaning. Harry bent over her and made a hasty examination. “Not badly hurt, I should say,” was his verdict. “Just stunned—and very badly frightened.” “What frightened her?” asked Arden. “I’m afraid we did,” Dorothy confessed. “What in the world possessed you two to sneak off and put on a masquerading act like this?” asked Sim. “We’ll explain everything in a few minutes,” answered Harry. “Just now we must get Mrs. Tucker upstairs. Here, Dick, you take this awkward long-tailed coat,” and he slipped off the one that had formerly covered a soldier. “I’ll carry Mrs. Tucker.” |
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