The Mystery of Jockey Hollow Part 11

Sim, Terry, and Dot were gathered in the big living room quietly talking over their visit with Granny Howe, when Arden burst in on them in great excitement and blurted out her newest and latest story.

The "crime sheet," as they had come to call the history of the Jockey Hollow ghost story, was hurriedly taken from the locked drawer of their desk, and Arden wrote in the three new suspicious characters: t.i.tus Ellery, Pop Warner, and the mysterious dark man mentioned as Nick.

"We'll have to go over to the Hall the first thing in the morning: they begin work early," Arden decided as she finished entering her report.

"Something is going to happen, I'm sure, and we don't want to miss it.

Those men at the drugstore seemed ready to pop."

"Suppose that Callahan person just tells us to go away-what then?"

questioned Sim.

"Granny told us we could go through the house, and if he says anything contrary we'll tell him Mrs. Howe gave us permission. I guess he won't put up any objections then," Terry said decidedly.

So the next morning the girls tumbled out of their warm beds and dressed quickly in riding clothes, that sort of outfit being most practical for the day ahead. The dead white snow covered everything, rounding out sharp stones and smoothing corners like a layer of lovely new downy cotton.

Apparently it had continued snowing for some time during the night, but now the sun was s.h.i.+ning with a dazzling brightness and a deep blue sky promised fair weather for the day.

The girls ate a big breakfast, which pleased Moselle. She was also pleased to make sure that the girls had suddenly become too busy to bother with the house, so the precious task was all her own.

Sim got the little car out and waited impatiently while Terry went back for a woolly scarf, but she nearly exploded when Arden, as soon as Terry returned, discovered she had forgotten her gloves and had to go back for them. Eventually they got going, only to stop when Sim noticed the gasoline gage showed nearly "empty." She decided she would have to drive to town for gas.

"Oh, Sim!" exclaimed Dot impatiently, "we've got enough to go out to the Hall and back. It will only take more time to go to a station."

"Yes, Sim, we won't be driving any place else. Don't go now," Terry begged.

But Sim was firm, and they headed toward town and stopped at a filling station, the other girls glaring at their little blonde chauffeur while the tank was being filled.

"I believe in being prepared," Sim lectured, paying the service man. "How do you know where we'll be before night?"

The words were prophetic, though Sim didn't realize it, for they were destined to have a queer experience that very day.

When they reached the road that led down to Sycamore Hall, the Hollow now being covered with snow, they saw tire tracks stretching before them. The workmen were there, of course. And they were late!

Parked in the spot they thought of as their own special place was an open truck with the name "Callahan-Contractor" painted on the back. Knowing what that meant, they looked at each other with questioning dismay.

Callahan himself must be there and would not be likely to leave at once.

Even as they wondered, he came marching out of the Hall, a smile on his broad ruddy face, and nonchalantly came over to their car.

Giving a tug at the brim of his shapeless soft hat he said jovially: "Well, we're back on the job again, ya' see. I've got a fine bunch of men there now. Not ordinary laborers. These men don't believe in ghosts," and taking a big black cigar from a pocket he bit off the end and searched in his pockets for a match.

Sim reached over Terry's knees, took the detachable cigarette lighter from the dash board, and smilingly handed it to the man. They watched to see what that might do.

The girls could hear the men stamping the snow off their feet in the empty house, now and then a loud crash as an iron bar or tool was carelessly dropped. The voices of the men, in good-natured badinage, floated out on the brisk air; then came shouts of laughter. Peal on peal, deep rumbling laughter, and the lighter sounds mingling together. What could this mean?

Mr. Callahan turned a pleased face to Sim as he handed back the lighter.

"There! These men didn't run. I guess they're onto the trick." He started toward the house, then stopped and said: "If you girls want to see the ghost you may as well. Come in with me, I'll show you what's been scaring my men." There was a bragging tone in his hearty voice, and a confident tread in his heavy stride.

The girls needed no urging, quickly getting out of the car and following the triumphant lead of the contractor through the light snow. Once inside, he went straight to the top of the house, walking with a precision that showed his determination. Now he would "tell the world,"

his att.i.tude seemed to declare.

Reaching the third floor they found the men still merry. They were in a room similar to that where the suspected ghostly bed was, on the floor below. As the boss, with the girls, came in, it was clear the men were trying to look businesslike.

"What's the joke?" asked Callahan bruskly. "What's all the laughing about?"

A young man wearing a windbreaker jacket and awkwardly holding a crowbar spoke first.

"We heard groans coming from the chimney, and Pete opened the chute in the fireplace and threw down a brick. I guess we hit the ghost, the noise stopped so quick," chuckled the workman.

"Ghost, my eye!" exclaimed another man. "Probably it was a cat or something caught in there. Well, you finished him anyway, Pete," and they were ready to laugh again.

Arden and the girls drew closer together. "There is that Nick," whispered Arden to Dot, indicating a man in the group who alone showed no amus.e.m.e.nt. He was covertly glancing at his companions, and suddenly he left the room.

In an instant he was back, bringing with him another man. Both were seriously excited.

"Any of you guys seen Jim? He was working with me across the hall, but he ain't here now," declared the new man.

"He didn't come here," answered the man who had spoken before. "What's the matter? You look worried."

Callahan stood facing the newcomer, dismay slowly blotting out the pleased expression on his face. Was this more trouble? Was ever a man so followed by bad luck? What was going on in this old house, anyway?

"What's your trouble?" Callahan was once more the boss contractor.

"I can't find Jim. He was with me, and we were sizin' up the room, figurin' on how she would tear apart. I was at one end and Jim at another, near a closet. I saw him go in. Then I heard a funny noise, sort of groan, and when I turned around-Jim wasn't there!"

CHAPTER XI Callahan Collapses

"Nonsense!" snorted Callahan, chewing on the end of his cigar. "He's probably downstairs."

"No, sir, I looked! Jim ain't so well. He's been sick, and this is the first time he's been out on a job in quite a while," the workman said.

"He's a swell feller. I've known him a long time. I'm afraid he's hurt."

"How could he be hurt? He hasn't even begun to work. Show me the room you were in." The contractor spoke disgustedly.

They all started for the room across the hall. The men were in various kinds of working clothes, one or two wearing ordinary business suits.

These were the better cla.s.s, who needed the work. Then there were regular house-wreckers in stout shoes and overalls. As a background there were the girls in their smart riding habits and bright scarfs following Callahan, whose cigar was now reduced to a soggy brown ma.s.s.

In the room from which the man Jim Danton had disappeared was a conglomeration of furniture. Old chairs and a rickety table piled in a group in one corner, a huge wicker clothes hamper that had been turned upside down, perhaps in the hope that Jim would fall out.

The girls could not suppress a giggle, it was so silly, and some of the men snickered too. But Jim was nowhere to be seen.

"Here's where I last saw him standing. Right here; but he wasn't there when I looked." The man who had been about to begin work with the missing Jim indicated the far end of the room.

Callahan strode over with Napoleon-like firmness. A door was closed, there; a closet door. With a huge red hand the contractor grasped the k.n.o.b and wrenched it open. There was an expectant silence, then Callahan took a step forward to see better. The closet was empty!

The group pressed nearer. Three sides of dark wood but nothing more. The contractor thumped the walls vigorously.

"You're crazy, man!" he said to the puzzled wrecker. "Jim never disappeared from here."