The Daring Twins

“But we might frighten him,” laughed Marion.

“Whoever is playing ghost must be trying to frighten others,” returned Janet; “for, as you say, actual really-truly ghosts do not exist. I think it would be fun to turn the tables on the impostor.”

“Perhaps so. What do you think, Phœbe?”

“It may be a good idea,” she said, rather reluctantly, for somehow she regarded this matter far more seriously than did the others. The ghost was using her grandfather’s tomb for its headquarters, according to Marion’s report, and that gave Phœbe a personal interest in the affair.

At last the clock warned them it was nearly twelve o’clock; so they gathered up the sheets Janet had provided and stole noiselessly from the house. The graveyard was only a short distance away and they reached it about midnight, taking their position in a dark corner near the Eliot mausoleum. They assisted one another to drape the sheets effectually and then sat down upon the ground, huddled close together, to await the advent of the ghost.

“Perhaps it won’t come to-night,” whispered Janet, with a suspicion of hopefulness in her voice.

“True; we must be prepared for that disappointment,” replied Marion, soberly.

“Do you feel at all creepy, girls?” asked Phœbe, who caught herself indulging in nervous shivers at times, despite the fact that the night was warm and sultry.

“For my part,” said Marion, “I have no silly fears when in a graveyard. I find the place serenely restful, and therefore enjoy it.”

“I wouldn’t care to be here alone,” admitted Janet; “but, as we’re all together I – I don’t – think I shall mind it – even if the Ghostly Mystery materializes.”

It was a long wait, and the three girls beguiled it at times by whispering together, more through desire to hear the sound of their own voices than because they had anything important to say. One o’clock arrived at last. Marion could read the face of her watch under the starlight. Another half hour dragged wearily away.

“I fear we shall encounter no adventure to-night,” Marion was saying, when Phœbe seized her arm and drew her back into the shadow.

“Hush!” she murmured, and pointed an arm toward the turnstile.

Two hearts, at least, were beating very fast now, for the long-expected ghost was at last in sight, gliding silently past the turnstile. Well, not exactly “gliding,” they decided, watching intently. It was not a very healthy looking ghost, and to their astonishment was entering the graveyard with shuffling, uneven steps. Of course it should have suddenly appeared from some tomb, as every well regulated ghost is supposed to do.

“The Mystery seems rather clumsy, Marion,” said Janet in an excited whisper.

“Isn’t it carrying something?” asked Phœbe.

“Yes; a weight of some sort in each hand,” was Marion’s composed reply. “The weights are as white as the ghost itself. Queer; isn’t it, girls?”

Glancing neither to right nor left the apparition slowly made its way into the graveyard and advanced to the big square mausoleum erected as the future abiding place of Jonathan Eliot. The white-robed figure seemed bent and feeble.

“Come!” said Marion; “let us surround it and play ghost ourselves.”

She glided swiftly out into the starlight, wrapping her sheet closely about her, and gained a position behind the tomb. Phœbe and Janet followed, spurred on by Marion’s fearless action. One passed to the right and the other to the left.

Singularly enough, the bent figure did not observe their presence until the tomb was nearly reached, when Marion circled around the railing and confronted the mysterious visitant. At the same time Janet and Phœbe advanced and all three slowly raised their white-draped arms above their heads.

“Woo-oo-oo!” wailed Marion.

With a shriek that pierced the night air far and wide the ghost staggered backward and toppled to the ground, lying still as death.

Startled though she was, Phœbe sprang forward and peered into the upturned face.

“Why – it’s Elaine!” she cried aloud.

“Yes,” said a quiet voice beside her. “And you’ve raised the very mischief by this mad prank, Phœbe Daring.”

It was Toby Clark, who gazed down at the still figure and wagged his tow head, mournfully.

“Is she dead, Toby?” asked Janet, in a hushed, frightened tone.

“I think not. Probably, she’s fainted.”

“And what was she carrying?” inquired Marion, seeming unmoved by the tragic occurrence.

Phœbe knew; they were two canvas bags of gold; but she said nothing.

“See here,” cried Toby abruptly, “it’s possible you crazy females have not spoiled the game, after all. Make tracks – will you, girls? – get away, out of sight; run home, so she won’t see you when she comes to.”

“But – I don’t understand,” began Janet, timidly.

“You’re not supposed to,” retorted Toby, more gruffly than he had ever spoken to her before.

“Toby is right, girls – I know he is right. Come —please come!” pleaded Phœbe, anxiously.

Thoroughly bewildered, Janet and Marion suffered her to lead them away, and when they had passed the turnstile and were out of sight Toby retreated and hid behind a gravestone.

Elaine did not recover at once, for her terror had been great and her faint was proportionately deep and lasting. But finally, when Toby was about to steal out again and see if she were dead, the old woman moved uneasily and moaned. A little later she sat up, placing her hands to her head. Then she seemed to remember the cause of her fright, for she cast fearful glances around her.

Apparently reassured, she presently tried to rise, and after several attempts regained her feet. The bags of gold still lay where she had dropped them and after another suspicious look around the graveyard she stooped and picked them up.

For several moments the woman stood motionless in that silent city of the dead, pondering on the forms she had seen and trying to decide whether her imagination had played her a trick, or she had really beheld the spirits of those gone before. The fact that she had not been robbed led her to dismiss any idea that the forms were mortal. Whatever the explanation might be, she reflected that she was now alone and had a purpose to accomplish.

She carried her load to the iron grating, unlocked the gate and passed through. The marble door of the mausoleum worked with a secret spring. Toby’s sharp eyes carefully marked the manner in which she released this spring and permitted the heavy marble block to swing noiselessly outward.

Elaine only lingered long enough to place the bags of gold inside. Then she closed the door of the tomb, let herself out at the iron gate and after one more shrewd inspection of the silent place made her way out of the graveyard and took the path that led back to her home.

Far behind her Toby followed like a shadow.

In half an hour she returned to the vault again, laden as before. For an old woman, and one who had just received a nervous shock, Elaine Halliday showed remarkable vitality. Her body appeared frail and weak, but an indomitable spirit urged it to perform its tasks.

CHAPTER XXIII

TWO AND TWO MAKE FOUR

When Judge Ferguson arrived at his office the next morning he found Toby Clark awaiting him.

“What! You’ve not let Miss Halliday escape?” he exclaimed.

“Miss Phœbe is watching her,” returned Toby. “I felt it was important for me to come here to report.”

“Very well; sit down and tell me what you have to say.”

“Early last evening,” began the youth, “I heard the woman in her room. I watched her through the peephole Miss Daring had prepared. She was gathering all the money from the hiding places. The bills and small change she made into packages; the gold she left in the bags. Then she went into another room – the room occupied by Mr. Eliot – and returned with an armful of papers.”