The Blue Ghost Mystery: A Rick Brant Science-Adventure Story

"Who wanted the land?" Scotty asked.

"I don't know. The offer came through Jethro Collins, a local real-estate man. He said he was acting as agent for out-of-town interests that preferred to remain unknown for political reasons. It sounded fishy to me, and I refused."

"Because it might be crooked?" Rick asked quickly.

"No. That didn't occur to me. I thought that industrial interests might want the property, and I'm not anxious to have a glue works or something set up as a neighbor. Besides, I don't care for Collins. I'd rather not do business with him."

"Could the old mine have any value?" Rick persisted.

"No. The lead remaining is of such poor grade that it wouldn't be of any use. I'm sure that the mine would have been abandoned even before the Civil War if the South hadn't needed the lead so badly. Of course we're only part owners, anyway. My grandfather owned it jointly with the Hilleboes, our next-door neighbors. They own the property beyond ours, and uphill from the mine. We've never worried over the ownership of the mine itself, because it's worthless for any purpose."

Rick thought it was curious that an offer should be made for worthless property just as the ghost put in an appearance. It required looking into. He wondered how to go about it, and decided perhaps a chat with the real-estate agent might be useful. Dr. Miller readily gave his permission to try.

To Rick's other question, Dr. Miller had no answer – that was the odd location of the pipe from which the spring water trickled. The scientist could make only one suggestion. "Perhaps the hole was drilled vertically, and a horizontal feed put on for convenience. Then, later, the area was covered over by tailings from the mine, leaving only the horizontal pipe. After all, the pipe is not directly over the mine shaft. It is well to one side, perhaps six or eight feet."

That was a reasonable suggestion, and Rick let it drop for the time being. In fact, the boys let the entire subject drop for the rest of the afternoon, although Rick kept worrying the problem as was his way when confronted with a puzzle.

The Millers had a badminton court in the shade of an enormous old oak, and after a short pause to let the hot dogs digest at least partially, Rick and Scotty let themselves in for a series of trouncings by the girls, who had obviously been playing intensively. It was embarrassing, to say the least, but neither boy begrudged the girls their success.

Not until dinner was ended did the subject of the ghost in Union blue come up again, then Rick started his probing once more.

"The business about an offer for the property may not be connected, but it's a curious coincidence. Now, what else happened about the time the haunting began? Any other facts, even unconnected ones?"

The Millers could think of none, but Mrs. Miller suggested that Belsely, their tenant, would know of anything new or unusual. Rick agreed to talk with him.

At eight o'clock, armed with flashlights, the boys departed for the old mine. They approached the area with caution, on the alert for any possible visitors. But the picnic ground was completely abandoned.

A quick inspection of the mine showed only their own footprints. The boards had been left off the entrance during their earlier inspection, and apparently no one had been there since. Then, at Scotty's suggestion, they looked for a place of concealment from which to hold vigil.

Rick found it, high in an oak. It was an easy climb, and from the huge limb they could look through a screen of foliage and see without being seen. Both boys were satisfied that they were unobserved. No humans knew they were in the vicinity.

The Virginia mosquitoes were not so easily deceived. Both boys were promptly located by a scouting party, and mosquito communications went into fast operation. Within a few minutes the entire local mosquito air force had invaded the tree. Rick waved his hands futilely at the whining swarm and muttered unhappily, "There are so many they have to line up for a bite."

"I know," Scotty replied in a whisper. "I wonder if they bite ghosts?"

"We'll soon see. It's a few minutes to nine."

In spite of the insects, the boys concentrated on the catch basin, alert for any sign of the ghost. Their flashlights were ready to probe the apparition if it should appear.

Rick glanced occasionally at the luminous dial of his watch. Then, on the stroke of nine, he whispered, "Now."

Nothing happened. The boys bore the mosquitoes stoically and waited. Not until his watch showed 9:15 did Rick speak aloud. "Let's get out of here. I doubt that the ghost will be any later than this. He's not performing tonight."

They dropped to the ground and scratched luxuriously. Scotty shook his head. "No audience, no ghost. Mighty interesting."

"I'm with you," Rick agreed. "Now, suppose the ghost had known we were going to be there. Would he perform for an audience of two?"

"Good question."

"We'll try for an answer tomorrow night," Rick stated. "Tomorrow we'll spread the word around town that we're going to be watching, and let's see what happens."

Scotty scooped up a pebble and tossed it into the creek as they crossed the bridge. "You're sold on the man-made idea, huh?"

"Aren't you?"

"I would be if I had the slightest clue about how a ghost can be produced. But this one baffles me. No darkened rooms, no ghost trumpets, no knocks on tables, not even a chain clanking. A puff of mist and the ghost appears. How is it done?"

Rick didn't know. He didn't even have an idea. "The pool bubbled," he remembered. "That's our only clue. Why did the pool bubble?"

"Essence of spook," Scotty replied. "Spook essence does that to water. Seriously, we poked in the bottom of the pool and found nothing."

"That doesn't mean there was nothing while the ghost was performing," Rick pointed out. "Only that no trace was left."

"You thinking about chemicals?" Scotty lengthened his stride toward the inviting lights of the Miller farmhouse. "And speaking of same, I need some for these mosquito bites."

"Chemicals can produce a mist," Rick pointed out, "without leaving a visible trace. We didn't taste the water in the pool. I'm going to take a sample tomorrow and see what I can find out."

The girls and the Millers were on the screened porch, waiting anxiously.

"No show," Rick called, anticipating the questions from the four on the porch. "Not a sign of a spook. Only mosquitoes."

"I have something for those bites," Mrs. Miller replied quickly. "The mosquitoes are fierce this year. Come into the kitchen and we'll treat both of you."

Between applications of the aromatic ointment the boys reported on their experience, or lack of it. Rick concluded, "So the ghost performs only before an audience, and then only when notified in advance."

Dr. Miller smiled. "A pretty sweeping conclusion from a pretty small sample, Rick. One experiment doesn't do more than give a single point on the curve. You need more evidence than tonight's failure."

"We'll try again," Rick answered. He outlined the plan to let it be known that they would be watching.

"That will be added evidence, but not conclusive," the scientist warned. "But you're on the right track, I'd say. Now, let's leave ghosts and go on to something more tangible. I have an interesting device made up of alternate black and red squares, on which various carved pieces, resembling royalty …"

Rick held up a hand. "Say no more. I will be delighted to take you on for a game of chess."

Barby and Jan returned to their own project, creating monograms to be embroidered on their summer clothes, while Scotty and Mrs. Miller settled down with books.

Rick knew from the start that he was no match for Dr. Miller, but he resolved to give him as good a game as possible. An hour passed before it was clear that Rick would be checkmated in two moves. He sighed. "You've got me, sir. I guess …"

The sentence was never completed. The quiet was abruptly shattered by the strident blasting of the plane's alarm system!

Rick and Scotty were on their feet and running on the instant. Rick reached the door first and threw it open, almost upsetting Belsely, the tenant farmer.

The man's eyes were wide, and his face was pale under the tan.

"It's the ghost!" he shouted. "It's him! In the field, by the plane!"

CHAPTER VI

The Dark Pit