Читать книгу The Girl Scouts at Singing Sands - Mildred A. Wirt - Страница 7

Table of Contents

JUDY stood transfixed, listening tensely. The musical notes now had died out and in the kitchen there was only silence. Had the strange notes of the flute been no more than a trick of the imagination?

Suddenly she was aware of a sound in the room beyond the kitchen. Judy whirled to see a white apparition framed in the doorway. She uttered a choked cry and then laughed aloud in relief. The figure was no ghost, only Miss Ward in a white bathrobe.

“Did I startle you?” the teacher asked in a whisper. “It is you, Judy?”

“Yes, I couldn’t sleep. I came out here to get a drink of water. For a minute I thought you were a ghost from the basement!”

“Oh, Judy!” Miss Ward reproved. “What nonsense!”

“I was joking,” Judy said hastily. “Of course, everyone knows there are no ghosts. All the same, that sound was unnerving.”

“Sound? What sound, Judy?”

“Well, it seemed to come from the cellar. First, I heard a series of loud thumps. Then, I thought I heard someone playing the flute.”

“Perhaps the sound drifted in from outside the cottage.”

“I’m sure it didn’t, Miss Ward.”

For several minutes the Scout leader listened attentively, but the noises which had disturbed Judy were not to be heard again.

“It is very late,” she said finally. “Judy, you must go back to bed.”

“I’m sorry to have awakened you. I tried to be quiet.” As Judy started across the kitchen, the badly constructed floor creaked beneath her slippered feet. She had reached the living room doorway, when she was brought up short by the high pitched note of a musical instrument.

“There it is again, Miss Ward!” she whispered, grasping the teacher’s arm. “A flute! Hear it?”

“Yes, I do,” the Scout leader replied. “It certainly sounds like a reed or a wind instrument.” She stood very still, listening.

From below the flooring issued a series of musical notes, tuneless but not displeasing to the ear. Then the kitchen again was enveloped in silence.

“It wasn’t my imagination, Miss Ward. You heard it too!”

“No, you didn’t imagine it, Judy,” the teacher soberly agreed. “The sound came from the basement, or so it seemed to me.”

Crossing to the cellar door, Miss Ward twisted the knob and pulled hard on it. “It’s still locked,” she murmured. “I begin to understand why Mr. Krumm was unwilling to make a refund on the rent.”

“This explains why the other tenants moved out so suddenly.”

“It may,” Miss Ward acknowledged. “Evidently, there is a very good reason for keeping this door locked.”

“You don’t suppose—anyone—could be down there?” Judy said falteringly. “Maybe locked in?”

“I’m afraid you’ve been watching too many television thrillers.”

“I guess so,” Judy admitted, laughing shakily. “My theory is wild all right. How do you explain the flute?”

“I don’t. However, I intend to talk to Mr. Krumm tomorrow. If this cottage has a mystery or any possible danger, it is his duty to inform us completely. Now get to bed, Judy. I’ll sit up for awhile.”

Next morning, when Judy awoke from a deep slumber, bright sunlight was streaming through the slats of the venetian blinds. Ardeth already was up and dressed.

“Breakfast in ten minutes,” she informed Judy, giving her a hard shake. “If you don’t get a move on, we’ll not be ready by the time the camp station wagon calls for us.”

“I guess I overslept,” Judy mumbled, pulling out of bed and groping blindly for her shirt and slacks. “Is everything all right?”

“Is everything all right?” Ardeth echoed, starting to air the bed. “What could go wrong so early in the morning?”

“I was just wondering, that’s all,” Judy answered, deciding to postpone the tale of the flute until after breakfast. “What smells so utterly delicious?”

“Bacon. Miss Ward and Virginia are cooking it. We’ve been assigned to the dishes.”

Judy dressed speedily, helped Ardeth tidy the bedroom, and was ready in time to help carry dishes to the breakfast table.

Miss Ward herself broached the subject of the strange sounds which had been heard in the basement during the night.

“I don’t wish to alarm anyone,” she asserted, pouring hot chocolate. “I feel though, that if we are to stay here, we must be on the alert. Furthermore, I intend to ask Mr. Krumm for an explanation. I am sure there is one, and that he can provide it.”

“If he will,” Judy added. “He certainly wasn’t passing out any information when he rented this cottage. I don’t know what to do about Aunt Mattie.”

“Fortunately, she won’t be here for a day or two,” Miss Ward replied. “We’ll have a little time in which to try to clear up the situation.”

As was to be expected, Ardeth and Virginia expressed keen disappointment at having missed out on the excitement. They asked a dozen questions, and spent the entire breakfast period speculating upon the nature of the mysterious basement sounds.

“Calico Cottage has a ghost!” Virginia insisted gaily. “How thrilling! And a boy who plays a flute is far more interesting than an ordinary apparition.”

“How do you know it’s a boy ghost?” Ardeth demanded. “For all we know, it may be an old man or a beautiful lady in white. My, I wish we could get down into the cellar!”

“I can see you leading the way!” Virginia teased. “Anyway, we have a more urgent problem.”

“That little dog,” interposed Judy, her face becoming grave. “Something must be done to get him out of the cave.”

Miss Ward told the girls that she had tried very early that morning to get in touch with Bart Ranieau. Though she had telephoned at seven o’clock, he already had left his rooming house and was off on his route.

“He may come this way,” she remarked hopefully. “If he does, perhaps we can flag him down. Otherwise, I’ll call the forest ranger headquarters in the village.”

Breakfast finished, Judy and Ardeth cleared the table and made a fast and furious attack upon the dishes. As they rushed about, stacking china neatly in the cupboards, they kept an attentive ear trained on the cellar area. The only sounds came from out-of-doors.

“If Miss Ward hadn’t backed up your story about that flute player, I’d have accused you of dreaming it up,” Ardeth declared. “Just my luck to have missed out on the fun.”

“It was scarey, rather than fun,” Judy answered. “For Aunt Mattie’s sake, I hope our basement friend doesn’t strike any more sour notes.”

Hanging up the dish towels to dry, the two girls joined Miss Ward and Virginia who were watching the highway for a glimpse of either the station wagon or the milk truck.

“There it comes!” Virginia suddenly cried, spying the vehicle driven by Bart Ranieau.

All the Scouts rushed to the main highway to flag down the milk wagon.

“Hi!” Bart greeted the girls as he halted the delivery wagon at the side of the road. “I see you’ve moved in. Need milk or butter this morning?”

“We can use two quarts of milk,” Miss Ward returned. “But we stopped you for another reason.”

“It’s about Pete,” Ardeth said tensely. “He lost himself in the cave last night. Judy and I called to him, but he wouldn’t come out. He kept going deeper and deeper in the hole.”

She broke off in the report, suddenly aware that the young milkman was smiling in an odd sort of way.

“That Pete!” he remarked. “He’s a natural-born spelunker.”

“A what?” demanded Judy.

“A spelunker. That’s what modern cave explorers call themselves. The science of caves is called speleology.”

Bart motioned for the girls to step over to the milk wagon. Peering in, they saw Pete sprawled comfortably on a rug, lying on the floor. He was fast asleep, his head resting on his forepaws.

“Pete found his own way out of the cave, as he usually does,” Bart explained. “I’ve tried to keep him out, but no soap. One of these days, he may lose his life in there.”

“Well, at any rate, he’s safe now,” Judy declared, greatly relieved. “Is the cave very deep?”

“The exit never has been found.”

“Really?” Ardeth’s eyes opened wide. “I guess Calico Cave is an unsafe place.”

“One shouldn’t venture in very far without a guide. Some ten years ago, a very courageous man whom I knew rather well, lost his life down there. He was seeking the cave exit. Since then, no one has ventured past the point where he last was seen.”

Judy inquired if Calico Cave and Hager’s Hole were one and the same place. Bart replied that they were identical.

“For years the cave was known as Hager’s Hole,” he explained. “It was named for old Captain Hager, who once owned this property.”

“Our cottage?” Virginia asked in astonishment.

“Not the cottage. But the Hager home used to stand in the same location. Mr. Krumm bought the place not so long ago. He tore down the old house and put up a new cottage on the original foundation. Folks advised him not to do it, but no one can tell Krumm anything!”

“He’s had a little trouble renting the cottage?” Judy probed.

“Oh, renters came along fast enough, but they wouldn’t stay!” the milkman chuckled. “Some of ’em, it seems, were allergic to strange sounds. I take it you folks spent a comfortable night?”

“We were disturbed once,” Miss Ward answered. “Nothing serious. We fancied we heard a flute player.”

“No ghosts?” Bart asked, grinning.

“Nary a ghost,” Miss Ward returned. “Naturally we were a bit disturbed about the music, and intend to seek an explanation.”

“Mr. Ranieau, you seem to be quite familiar with Calico Cave,” Judy remarked pointedly. “Could you, by chance, tell us why the name was changed, and maybe explain the mystery of the cottage?”

“Maybe I could,” Bart said, grinning in an odd way. “I like you folks. You have more nerve than those other renters. Maybe, if you ask pretty, I’ll tell you the story of the Old White Witch.”