  That evening Jimmie’s father and mother were to be in the city with friends. It often fell to the lot of this popular Sports Editor to entertain big men of his own little world who happened to be in town. So, once again Jimmie was all set to dine with John Nightingale in the hideout. For once, without knowing why, he wished his mother was to be home, that he might eat a delicious hot meal such as only a mother can prepare, then curl up and listen to the radio. The weather was bad. There was a cold wind suggesting autumn. There was a threat of storm in the sky. As he and John entered the hideout Jimmie’s eyes were greeted by a great panful of unwashed dishes, and an unswept floor. “What we need around here,” he said soberly, “is a woman. Women keep places warm and clean while you are away. And they meet you at the door with a smile.” “Yes,” John grinned good-naturedly, “if it’s pay day. “The only trouble with that,” he said, striking a match to light the fire, “is that a woman would want a stove without cracks in the lids.” “Then she’d want a gas range,” added Jimmie. “Yes, and after that an electric refrigerator, an automatic water heater and all the rest that makes for a real home which we haven’t got. So—o,” John drawled, “what say we wash the dishes?” Wash them they did and after that they prepared a meal of pork chops, brown gravy, french fried potatoes, and apple turnovers. After the meal John sat thoughtfully by the fire. Jimmie was half asleep. The fire gleamed brightly through the cracks in the lids. All was peace among the pines, when, quite without warning there came a knock at the door. “Who’s that?” John sprang to his feet. Jimmie thought of that other night’s adventure and of the trap he had set. His skin had begun to crawl when the door burst open and a smiling face beneath a tumbled mass of red hair looked in upon them. “Behold the woman,” said John with a sweeping gesture. It was Mary Dare. “Why the dramatics?” she asked with a laugh. “We were discussing the merits of women,” said John. “And John said a woman wouldn’t like cracked stove-lids,” put in Jimmie. “I think they’re lovely,” said Mary. “But jokes are off. I’ve come on an errand. It’s important.” “Have a chair,” said John. “For just one minute,” said Mary, seating herself. She perched on the edge of her chair as she explained, “Tom Howe sent me. He couldn’t come. He thinks there is stolen treasure hidden in that big, old house on this estate. He has a direct tip from a certain man who sells information. He wants us to search the house.” “Tonight?” John sprang to his feet. “Cellar to garret.” The girl nodded. “But listen,” exclaimed John. At that instant there came a distant peal of thunder. “It’s going to rain.” “Orders are orders,” said Mary, becoming a trifle dramatic herself. “The law must be served.” “All right,” said John. There was a tired note in his voice. He reached for his coat. “Come on, Jimmie. We must search that house.” As they marched away Jimmie was thrilled, John just plain tired, and Mary? Who knows what a woman thinks at such a time? “Probably thinking what a grand story it will make,” Jimmie told himself. “Anyway, she’s no fraidy.” As they approached the deserted mansion Jimmie felt a chill course up his spine. Never before had the place seemed so dark and forbidding. Already black clouds were sweeping across the sky. The moon, hidden for a moment, came out with a strange, startling light, then disappeared for good. The wind went rushing through the pines. Involuntarily they began speaking in whispers. “That thunder sounds like a warning to us to stay away,” the girl agreed, much to Jimmie’s astonishment. “But we’re not going to stay away.” There was a note of finality in her voice. “There may be gold hidden there,” said Jimmie, “or diamonds or—or just nothing at all.” “That’s what we’re to find out,” said the girl. “Well, here we are,” she laughed a short little laugh. “Anyway, nothing’s got us yet.” John unlocked the door and let them in. As he did so a fresh burst of wind rushing past them stirred draperies long hanging in decay. It closed a distant door with a bang like the report of a gun. Then, as if it would precede them in their search, it went whispering away up the deserted stairs. Their search from cellar to attic, was long and thorough and quite fruitless. They had just begun going over the attic when the storm which had long been brewing broke upon the old house in a tumult of wild fury. “Think of the men and women, yes, and little children who have lived here in days long gone by,” whispered Mary. “Think how many times they have shuddered at just such a storm as this. And yet, the chimneys, so old that bricks fall from their tops, still stand while those who shuddered are all gone.” As she finished speaking the three tired searchers fell silent. |
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