It was not until the following day, when Marjorie faced a free morning, that she had an opportunity to go over the events of the previous day and weigh their significance. Then, with the excitement of the picnic behind her, she was able to think calmly.

The more she thought of the strange voice she and Ethel had heard in the cellar, the more anxious she was to learn its source. Now she felt angry with herself for running away; she wished that she had accepted the boys’ offer to return immediately and explore the cellar. It had been ridiculous to allow such an opportunity to pass.

She took her fancy-work and went down on the porch, hoping that Ethel, who was also free that morning, would join her. She longed to talk the matter over with her, and to tell her of the plan she was formulating.

She did not have to wait long, for in a few minutes Ethel appeared, with two or three magazines. But Marjorie had no intention of allowing her to read.

“I’m so glad you came out,” said Marjorie. “For I’ve been dying to talk the whole thing over without the other girls. And of course last night we were too tired—”

“Yes, I didn’t even give it a thought after I got into bed, I was so sleepy,” said Ethel. “But I certainly have been trying to figure it out this morning. I positively can’t make head or tail of it.”

“Neither can I. And yet we didn’t dream it—we certainly wouldn’t both dream it—”

“Don’t you think it could possibly have been a spirit?” asked Ethel.

“No, I don’t. I think somebody wants to get us out of that house—though for what reason under the sun, I can’t imagine—and is using this method to frighten us. Because, otherwise, why should only we girls experience it, and never the men?”

“You don’t think the boys could have heard something of the kind and refrained from telling us for fear of scaring us?”

“If they had, Ethel,” replied Marjorie, convincingly, “Jack and John never would have consented to letting you and me stay alone in the house all night—even with their watching as close as they were. No, I know them both too well for that!”

“I guess you’re right,” admitted Ethel. “Well, Marj, what are we going to do about it—just ignore it all? We have nearly a month yet—”

“No, I really mean to do something, as I said last night to the boys, to get to the bottom of it. I have a plan—rather vague, I’ll admit—but still, it’s a plan.”

“Tell me about it!” urged her companion.

“Well, it’s based on this idea: whoever they are that want to frighten us away, they plan their attacks for only the times when we girls are alone in the house. Evidently, then, there is no hope of using the boys to help catch them. Neither do I think there is any chance of our doing anything, against men; we’d only get into trouble. So our one salvation lies in getting two or three of the boys to disguise themselves as girls, and go after them.”

“Splendid!” cried Ethel, approvingly. “But wouldn’t they recognize their voices?”

“Yes, if it is necessary to do any talking. I thought we might work out some such scheme as this—have Jack, disguised as a girl, and me sleep all night at the house; and have John and maybe one or two of the others,—either hidden or disguised—outside. I really haven’t worked out the details of the plot a bit, because I thought Jack and John could do much better than I could.”

“It’s wonderful!” cried Ethel, in growing admiration. “I’m sort of jealous of you, though—being the only girl—”

“I’d include you, Ethel, if I thought it were wise. But it seems to me we better not have too many, and of course it would be best for me because Jack is my brother. But we won’t decide anything definitely until I talk it over with Jack and John at the tea-house this evening.”

The girls continued to discuss the subject until Marie Louise and Florence came up on the porch, and then they dropped it for discretion’s sake. The whole effectiveness of the plan would be lost if the disguise were to be common knowledge.

At luncheon the scouts all asked Marjorie what she intended to do in regard to the warning she had received.

“I don’t know yet,” she replied, truthfully. “I want to talk it over with the boys and make some arrangements for staying again all night at the tea-house.”

“No! No! Marjorie!” cried Marie Louise, aghast at the idea. “Oh, please take the warning seriously, and stay away from there at night!”

Marjorie smilingly shook her head.

“No, Marie Louise; it’s our duty as truth-loving Girl Scouts to get to the bottom of this thing. But I won’t be foolish—I’m going to proceed very carefully.”

“Well, in the meanwhile, I hope nothing dreadful happens,” she observed.

“How are we working today?” asked Ethel, abruptly. “I’ve had so many other things to think about that I’ve almost forgotten there is such a thing as work.”

“Everybody’s on all afternoon,” replied Marie Louise. “But Alice and I go off at four o’clock because we worked this morning. And you and Marjorie are supposed to stay latest, and close the house.”

“Suits me!” announced Marjorie. “Jack and John will surely be down this evening, and it will give us a chance to talk things over.”

The business at the tea-house was as gratifying as ever that afternoon; perhaps because it was particularly warm and sultry, a larger number of patrons than usual came in to enjoy the ice-cream and the ice-tea, and to rest beneath the electric fans; for as soon as the money had begun to pour in with greater rapidity, Marjorie had installed them in the tea-room and in the rest-room. The girls themselves were so busy and so happy in their service that they did not notice the heat. Indeed, it was only after Marie Louise and Alice made their departure that they began to feel fatigued.

About six o’clock the rush seemed to be over, and Marjorie insisted that all except Ethel and herself go home for supper. Then, in the lull that followed, they found something to eat, and waited impatiently for the coming of the boys. When they finally arrived, Marjorie lost no time in putting her new plan up to them.

“But let’s wait several days,” she concluded, “while you people figure it out to the best advantage. We want to lay a regular Sherlock Holmes trap, and catch the enemy without any slips. So—think as hard as you can.”

“We certainly will!” cried both boys, in excitement.

They fell so heartily into Marjorie’s proposition, and seemed so confident of success, that for the first time since the opening of the tea-house, the girls really felt as if most of the obstacles were behind her. She was naturally disgruntled therefore to be greeted, upon reaching home, with the news of a fresh disaster.

“Marie Louise and Alice have disappeared!” announced Florence, almost before the girls were out of John’s car.

“What?” cried Marjorie, standing perfectly still on the step of the Ford. “What did you say?”

“Marie Louise and Alice have not been seen since this afternoon!” repeated Florence. “And what is more—the last person who saw them was Anna—and she thinks they went down the cellar of the tea-house!”

“Oh, no! No!” protested Marjorie. “Oh, not that!”

“Well, she really isn’t a bit sure,” said Mae Van Horn. “But it was rush hour, you know, and she says the girls were going off duty and came back to the kitchen for something to eat. You know we just got in that barrel of apples—the first of the season—and Marie Louise said they each wanted one. And Anna told them the barrel was down the cellar.”

“And they went down?” asked Marjorie, incredulously. “You can’t make me believe that Marie Louise braved the terrors of that cellar just for the sake of an apple!”

“Well, I don’t know,” said Mae. “Anna didn’t see whether they went or not. Anyway, they expected to be back for supper—and they’re not here yet—and it’s almost eight o’clock!”

“John,” said Marjorie, descending from the step of the car and taking the tea-house key from her pocket, “you and Jack go back and search that cellar. And I’ll go call up Doris and all Marie Louise’s other friends I can think of.”

In fifteen minutes Marjorie came out to the porch again and reported no success.

“Of course not!” said Mrs. Munsen, who was even more anxious than any of the girls. “Marie Louise is always thoughtful about telephoning when she expects to miss a meal.”

“She may be at the tea-house,” observed Ethel.

“Oh, I hope not!” sighed Mrs. Munsen. “Then surely something dreadful would have happened to them!”

But in a few minutes the boys also returned to tell of their failure. They had searched the tea-house carefully, from top to bottom, without any results.

“Did you get a warning from the spirit world?” asked Florence, half mockingly.

“No; the house was as silent as a tomb,” replied John.

“The poor ghosts have to sleep sometime!” remarked Mae, lightly.

“Girls!” reproved Mrs. Munsen; “this is serious—it’s no time for joking! We must do something to find Marie Louise and Alice.”

“But what?” asked Marjorie. “Go to the police again?”

“Oh, they’re no good!” said Jack, contemptuously. “We’d better hunt the girls ourselves.”

“I honestly think they’ll show up soon,” declared Ethel. “Maybe they went for a walk, and got lost—”

“But Marie Louise is a Philadelphian,” protested Florence.

The sharp, insistent ring of the telephone interrupted the conversation, and Marjorie hurried off to answer it. In a moment she was back again.

“They’re safe—and all right!” she announced, joyously. “They’re waiting for a taxi, and will be here in about twenty minutes.”

“But where are they, and where have they been?” demanded Mrs. Munsen.

“Somewhere in town—I couldn’t understand just where. They were unavoidably detained; they said they’d explain when they get here.”

The girls put in the next twenty minutes of waiting in discussing Alice’s and Marie Louise’s possible reason for being away. At last they all agreed that the ghost at the haunted house could have no possible connection with this adventure, and generally agreed that the girls must have gone to a show. Nevertheless, when Alice and Marie Louise actually reached the porch steps, this was the first question they were greeted with:

“Did the ghost kidnap you girls?” It was Mae who asked it.

“No,” answered Marie Louise, dropping into a chair, and removing her hat; “no, the ghost didn’t get after us—we went after the ghost!”

“What do you mean?” cried two or three of the girls at once.

“Tell us the whole story!” urged Florence.

“Well,” began Marie Louise, “after Marj talked at lunch time about spending another night at the tea-house in spite of that warning which she and Ethel received, I began to be worried. I thought we ought to know whether there was anything to it—if the spirits really were opposed to our using the house. So I decided to find out.”

“To find out!” repeated Marjorie in surprise. “But how did you experiment?”

“No, not experiment!” corrected Marie Louise. “We went straight to the proper source for information. Alice and I consulted a medium!”

“So that is what you were doing in town!” remarked Mrs. Munsen. Then, her mind suddenly switching from the mental to the physical. “And haven’t you had any supper?”

“We had ice-cream while we were waiting for the taxi,” replied Alice.

“You poor dears!” cried the older woman, rising. “I’ll hear the rest later, and go fix your something to eat.”

As soon as she was gone, Marie Louise went on with her story.

“I had the name of a medium a friend of mine went to see in the city,” she said; “so as soon as I knew we would be off at four o’clock, I persuaded Alice to go with me.”

“I really was crazy to go,” put in her companion.

“Naturally!” remarked Florence.

“Well,” continued the narrator, “we didn’t have any trouble getting there, but we found we had to wait. There were several other clients before us in her office.”

“What sort of woman was she?” asked Marjorie.

“Oh, quite ordinary,” replied Marie Louise. “Thin and scrawny—”

“And a little dirty,” added Alice.

“Did she use cards, or those other devices fortune-tellers have?” asked Ethel.

“No, she looked at us steadily for about five minutes—it wasn’t dark in the room—and then began to ask questions and tell us things.”

“How much of the story did you tell her?” inquired Marjorie.

“Practically everything. Then she went off in a trance for about five minutes.”

“Yes—yes?” The interest was intense now.

“Finally she opened her eyes and said it is the spirit of the young man’s mother that is haunting the house. She—or it—can’t bear to have any young people around except him.”

“Then what are we to do?” asked Mae, breathlessly.

“She said she thought it might be safe to go on with the tea-house, as that is strictly for charity, but that under no condition should we have parties or entertain in any way, or stay all night in the house.”

“That’s all rubbish!” cried Marjorie, jumping up impatiently. “She just made that up! Anyone of us could have told you as much—”

“And what did she charge you for this precious bit of information?” asked Ethel, cynically.

Marie Louise did not answer, but suddenly began to sob hysterically.

“You girls are mean!” cried Alice. “After all our trouble—”

“Oh, Marie Louise!” said Marjorie, instantly apologetic; “I’m so sorry if I hurt your feelings! I honestly didn’t mean to—”

“Neither did I!” added Ethel. “Do forgive us!”

“Your supper’s ready, girls!” interrupted a kindly voice from the doorway, and the whole party adjourned to the dining-room.

This little adventure did not have the slightest influence upon Marjorie; she continued to go on with her arrangements for spending another night at the tea-house.