AS Judy hung up the telephone receiver, the light suddenly was switched on behind her. Startled, she whirled around with a smothered exclamation of alarm.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you, Judy.” It was Kathleen who stood in the doorway, a corduroy robe flung over her shoulders. “I heard someone moving around, and thought I’d check, that’s all. Is anything wrong?”

“The phone was ringing. I—I don’t know what to make of it.”

“Who was it that called, Judy?”

“That’s the point. I don’t know. Someone asked for Joe.”

“Joe? Joe who?”

“That’s exactly what I asked, Kathleen. The only Joe I know is that dreadful Joe Pompilli.”

“Someone must have called the wrong number.”

“I guess so,” Judy admitted doubtfully. “It gave me an ugly start though. What time is it?”

“A little past midnight,” Kathleen said, looking at her wristwatch. “What a night! All we need to make it complete is a little flute music!” The switching on of a light had disturbed the others in the cottage. Miss Ward came in from the bedroom and then Virginia and Ardeth, the latter groggy with sleep.

“What now?” she mumbled. “Another ghost?”

Judy explained about the telephone.

“Those Lone Tree Scouts!” Virginia exclaimed indignantly. “They’re playing another joke on us! Trying to pretend that Joe Pompilli is calling!”

“It wasn’t anyone from Pine Cone Camp,” Judy said, her face serious. “Whoever called was a man.”

“It must have been someone who dialed a wrong number,” Kathleen insisted. “I’m in favor of forgetting the whole business, and going to bed. If we don’t get some sleep we’ll all be wrecks tomorrow.”

“That’s sound advice,” approved Miss Ward. “To bed everyone!”

All the girls were up at seven o’clock the next morning, feeling little the worse for the excitement of the night. While the Scouts were washing the breakfast dishes, the telephone rang again.

“You get it, Judy,” Virginia directed with a giggle. “It’s probably from Joe.”

“From Aunt Mattie more than likely,” Judy replied, moving hastily to the telephone.

The message was from Miss Lubell at Pine Cone Camp. She asked Judy to tell Miss Ward that the station wagon driver had been delayed that morning and could not call for the girls until ten thirty. “This means we’ll have considerable free time on our hands,” Judy remarked as she relayed the information to the others.

“Let’s explore the river area, and maybe around the cave,” proposed Ardeth. “I want to find an insect or an animal we can enter in the nature treasure chest.”

“We’ll all go,” Miss Ward decided.

The work already had been finished. Locking the cottage, the five struck off down the private road. After it dead-ended, they went on across the silvery-gray rocks and through a stretch of sand to the river.

Beyond the ribbon of blue water, the mountains rose in jagged green peaks. A ranger station was visible on one of the high slopes, set in a cleared area among the trees.

A half-rotted dock extended for some distance out into the stream. The girls noticed an elderly man in blue overalls tying up his rowboat after a fishing expedition.

“Good morning,” Judy said pleasantly as the girls wandered over. “How’s the fishing?”

Straightening up, the old man shoved a soiled white cap at a rakish angle over his shaggy white hair.

“Mornin’ to you,” he greeted the girls jovially. “The fishin’? Nary a bite! Blast my timbers, it’s a waste of a man’s time to blister his skin out in the sun on this old river. I’m slingin’ my hook for today.”

Moving stiffly, the elderly man began to unload his fishing equipment from the boat. Judy and Kathleen reached down to help him.

“Right handy mates ye be,” he remarked, well pleased by their attention. “Don’t recollect seein’ you gals hereabouts before. Tourists?”

“We’re Girl Scouts,” Judy explained. “We’re staying at Pine Cone Camp. Because of a mix-up there over reservations, some of us have been sleeping at Calico Cottage.”

“Calico Cottage? Well, bash my binnacles!”

“It’s a lovely cottage,” Ardeth contributed. “The only trouble is, it seems to have a ghost.”

“A musical ghost who plays a flute at night,” added Virginia.

“You don’t say! A ghost!” The old man gave a throaty chuckle and then laughed so hard that his sizeable stomach rolled up and down under the overalls. “I’ll be a son of a sea cook! That’s a good joke on Krumm!”

“It’s not so much fun for us though,” Judy declared earnestly. “We’re turning the cottage over to my aunt this afternoon. She’s inclined to be nervous. We’d hoped to clear up the mystery before she arrived, but that seems out of the question now.”

“Don’t waste any time worrying about that ghost,” the old man advised. “A bunch o’ Girl Scouts ought to be smart enough to get to wind’ard of any flute-playin’ spook.”

“It would seem that way,” agreed Judy. “So far, though, we’ve had no luck. By the way, you’re not Captain Hager by any chance?”

“That’s my name, but not by chance! Captain Humphrey Hager, formerly master of the good ship Elaine. I’ve been in dry dock going on ten years now.”

“We’re glad to meet you,” Judy declared cordially. She introduced Miss Ward and the girls, and then added: “Bart Ranieau told us that you once owned Calico Cottage—or rather, the old homestead that stood on the same foundation.”

“That’s right,” Old Captain Hager agreed, his leathery face wrinkling into a scowl. “I found myself in low water, financially speaking. That blasted, penny-squeezin’ Krumm kept pestering me, until finally I sold him the place.”

“Tell us, Captain Hager,” urged Kathleen, “did the house have a ghost when you lived there?”

A knowing smile overspread the old man’s face. “Well, yes, and no,” he said. “I advised Krumm to put in a new foundation, but he let me know he would do it his own way. So now he has a ghost! Ha!”

“Does the old foundation have anything to do with the ghost?” Virginia asked, looking puzzled.

Old Captain Hager acted as if he had not heard the question. He fussed with the painter of the rowboat for a moment, and then remarked offhand:

“So you gals have met Bart Ranieau? Now there’s a fine lad, smart as a whip and with the courage of a young lion. He told you about Hager’s Hole?”

“Calico Cave?” inquired Judy.

“Hager’s Hole,” the old man repeated. “I don’t take stock of that new fancy name Krumm tacked on. Bart told you about his father losing his life in the cave?”

“Why no!” exclaimed Judy.

“He did say something about an explorer trying to find the cave’s exit, and never being heard of again,” Virginia added.

“That was Bart’s father,” the Captain informed her. “His son’s a chip off the old block. Lots of sand in the craw! Bart’s trying to work his way through college by peddlin’ milk. Aye, he’s an up and comer!”

“How did Bart’s father lose his life?” Miss Ward inquired.

The old captain’s gaze swept the river and lifted to fasten thoughtfully upon the dark entranceway of Calico Cave.

“No one knows,” he replied. “Not for sure. Folks say though, that it was the siphon that did for him.”

“What’s a siphon?” demanded Kathleen.

“Hager’s Hole has an underground river,” he related. “Where it empties no one knows. Deep in the cave is a grotto, so beautiful it will blast your eyes! The underground stream must have hollowed it out ages ago, then bored its way on through the rock.

“By wading waist-deep and finally neck-deep in water one can follow the river for awhile. Then the ceiling dips until water and roof meet. That’s your siphon.”

“A stretch of water between the rocks, with no roof space above?” Judy questioned.

“Aye.”

“Bart’s father tried to go through the siphon?” Miss Ward inquired soberly.

“He knew he was risking his life, but spelunkers don’t have good sense when it comes to explorin’ caves. Bart’s father was obsessed with the idea he had to find the exit to Hager’s Hole. He gambled his life, figuring he could dive through the siphon and find an air space beyond.”

“No one ever learned for certain what became of Mr. Ranieau?” The question was asked by Judy who sat cross-legged on the dock, listening intently to every word of the story.

“His clothes were found in the grotto, tied in a neat bundle. That’s all that ever was known. A watch was kept at the siphon for days, but there never was a sound or a signal of any kind. That was a long while ago, and now Bart’s sailin’ the same course as his dad, hauntin’ that cave, and dreamin’ about it at night. I’m right worried about the lad.” “You’re afraid he’ll meet with mishap in the cave?” questioned Miss Ward.

“Bart knows his way in that cavern like it was his own ship,” the old captain replied. “What worries me, Ma’am, is that he’s obsessed with finding out what became of his father. He keeps talking about the siphon, speculatin’ on whether a strong swimmer couldn’t get through. One of these days he may be rash enough to try it.”

“Calico Cave—Hager’s Hole, I mean,” Kathleen corrected herself, “must be a fascinating place. You’ve been in the cave many times I suppose?”

“Aye, in my younger day, I went there right often.”

“Then you must have seen the White Witch!” cried Judy, her brown eyes dancing.

“Aye,” Captain Hager agreed reminiscently. “Aye.” He became absorbed in deep thought.

Judy broke into his meditation to ask how long it would take to reach the formation after one left the cave entrance.

“Ten minutes,” the captain estimated. “It’s easy walkin’. But don’t you gals try it by yourself. If you’re aimin’ to go into that cave, you need a guide.”

“We do, indeed!” cried Judy. She sprang to her feet, seizing the captain’s hand so unexpectedly that he nearly dropped his pipe. “Oh, Captain Hager, will you take us? Please, will you guide us to the White Witch?”