The threatening communication was unsigned but was written in a bold scrawl, and, Nancy fancied, was unmistakably the handwriting of a man.

“Who could have sent it?” she asked herself, in amazement. “Why, I’ve taken special pains not to let anyone know I am going to the Turnbull house. Even Hannah doesn’t know I am to visit there.”

How could anyone have learned of her plans? Nancy Drew turned this question over in her mind as she sat propped up with pillows in a corner of the big davenport, the very picture of a pretty girl in a brown study over some knotty problem. The more she thought about it, the knottier her problem became, for she had communicated with Rosemary and Floretta by writing, and unless her note to them had been intercepted in the mail, there was no way, to her knowledge, that the information could have become known to a third person.

“I’m almost tempted to believe in ghosts myself,” she thought. “It’s positively uncanny!” She reflected a moment and then chuckled: “But, anyway, I don’t believe the ghost is a very brave one, or he wouldn’t be afraid to have me on his trail.”

As she considered the possibility of danger connected with her visit to the old mansion, the smile faded from her face and all facetious thoughts about ghosts passed from her mind. The note had frightened her, but it had not deterred her in her purpose to do all within her power to solve the mystery surrounding The Mansion. Nancy possessed the fighting instincts of her father, and it would take more than a threat to keep her away from the Turnbull house. She was convinced that underhand work was going on at The Mansion and she was determined to expose it if it were possible to do so.

“I think Dad was wise to suggest that I take his revolver,” she told herself. “And I’ll take plenty of ammunition, too! Enough to annihilate an army! Though, truth to tell, I don’t know whether I could hit the broad side of a barn or not.”

Getting up from the davenport, Nancy crossed over to the desk, and with a glance at the window shades to see that they were down, removed the revolver from the drawer. Taking it upstairs, she placed it carefully in her traveling bag. As she started back down the stairs, she heard a light step on the porch.

She paused and listened.

“I wonder if I’m to get another note?” flashed through her mind.

Before she could move forward, the door opened and Hannah Gruen came in.

“Oh, it’s you,” Nancy murmured in relief.

“Why, yes. Who did you think it was?”

“Well, I didn’t know,” and Nancy smiled. “I wouldn’t have been much surprised if a ghost had walked in.”

“A ghost?” Hannah asked in alarm. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, nothing,” Nancy assured her hastily. “I was only joking.”

Before the housekeeper could question her further, the girl said good night and retreated to her bedroom.

“I’ll not let that anonymous note disturb my sleep,” she told herself resolutely, as she tumbled into bed, “and to-morrow I’ll start for The Mansion just as I planned.”

After she had finished her breakfast the next morning, Nancy Drew took leave of the housekeeper, and, closing up the house, started off for Cliffwood in her roadster.

There was not a sign of life about the old stone house as she drove up, and she began to wonder if anything had happened to Rosemary and Floretta since her last visit.

However, before she could lift the knocker on the front door, Rosemary greeted her.

“I saw you coming up the drive. Oh, you don’t know how glad we are that you have come!” she declared cordially. “You see, we were afraid you might change your mind. We couldn’t have blamed you if you had.”

“I hope nothing has happened since I was here the other day,” Nancy said quickly.

“Oh, it’s been almost unbearable. We had made up our minds to leave the place if you didn’t come to-day.”

Rosemary’s face was strained, and Nancy thought she looked as though she had not slept for several nights. The ordeal of remaining in the house was gradually wearing her down.

“Last night we heard music again,” she said, in a very low tone.

“What sort of music?”

“It seemed to come from a stringed instrument. It might have been a guitar.”

“From what part of the house?”

“That was the strange part of it. The sound wasn’t localized. It seemed to move from one part of the house to another.”

“Did you hear the music distinctly?”

“No; the sound was muffled, as though it were a long way off. Oh, it was almost ghostly!” Rosemary shuddered and turned appealing eyes upon Nancy. “Tell me, do you believe in the supernatural?”

“I am almost certain your house is not haunted,” Nancy returned firmly, for she saw that Rosemary’s iron nerve was beginning to go back on her. “How long did the music last?”

“About half an hour, I should judge.”

“Did Miss Floretta hear it, too?”

“Oh, yes. She’s positively ill this morning. She didn’t get out of bed. We’ll go to her room now if you like.”

“Perhaps it would be better not to disturb her.”

“Oh, she wanted to see you just as soon as you arrived.”

Rosemary led the way through the long, dark corridor and to the stairway.

“I’ll show you to your room first and then you can talk with Floretta,” she told Nancy when they reached the upper hall.

Rosemary opened a door and permitted Nancy to enter ahead of her. The bedroom was a large, comfortable one with an old-fashioned canopy bed and heavy mahogany furniture.

“I have assigned you the room right next my own,” Rosemary explained. “If anything should happen during the night you could rap on the wall or cry out and I would hear you.”

Nancy nodded soberly.

“And the key is in the door,” Rosemary continued. “Floretta and I always lock our doors.”

“I will lock mine too,” Nancy promised.

“Are you certain you want to go through with it?” Rosemary questioned anxiously. “If anything should happen to you I’d never forgive myself.”

“I don’t believe anything serious will happen.”

“I wish I could feel as confident,” Rosemary sighed. “Shall we go to Floretta now?”

“Yes, I am ready. I will unpack my bag later.”

Nancy followed Rosemary down the hall and they entered the bedroom in the east wing.

“Welcome to the haunted house,” Floretta murmured as a greeting to the girl. She was propped up in bed with cushions and her face was white and haggard. A tray on a table near the bed had been left practically untouched.

“Floretta, you didn’t eat your breakfast,” Rosemary chided gently.

“Oh, I couldn’t, Rosemary. I’m so upset. I can’t stay in this horrible place much longer.”

“Miss Drew is here to help us,” Rosemary responded quietly.

“But can she? I’m beginning to doubt that anyone can help us!”

“Nonsense! You mustn’t let your nerves get the best of you!”

“I think I can help you.” Nancy smiled reassuringly. “At least I will do my best. I intend to go all over the house and see if I can locate secret panels or trapdoors.”

“I don’t believe it will do any good,” Floretta declared pessimistically. “I never heard of anything like that in the house.”

“I may as well have a look, anyway,” Nancy said easily. She remembered something which she intended to ask the Turnbull sisters. “Tell me, did you mention to anyone that I was coming here for a visit?”

“No,” Rosemary answered promptly. “We took care not to mention it to a soul.”

“Of course we talked about your note when it came,” Floretta added. “But we didn’t let out a hint of its contents to anyone. Why do you ask?”

Nancy hesitated, then deciding that it could do no particular harm to tell the Turnbull sisters of the note she had received, she related what had happened the previous night.

“Someone warned you not to come here?” Floretta gasped. “Why, how could the news have gotten out?”

“I wish I knew,” Nancy admitted. “It would seem as though the walls have ears!” She lowered her voice. “Even now, someone may be listening to every word we say!”

Nancy Drew’s presence in The Mansion had a wholesome effect upon the Turnbull sisters, for soon after her arrival they became more cheerful. Floretta announced that she felt a great deal better and insisted upon getting up and dressing. To the surprise of her sister she appeared most cheerful when she came downstairs for luncheon.

“Tell me, does this house have any particular history?” Nancy questioned, as the three sat at the table.

“Oh, yes, indeed,” Rosemary responded proudly. “It was built in the early days when stone houses were out of the ordinary. Of course The Mansion has been remodeled many times, but the original walls still stand. The property has never passed from the Turnbull family.”

“To your knowledge there are no secret panels or trapdoors in the house?”

“I know of none. However, Floretta and I never were interested in such things until recently, and I’ll admit we haven’t gone over the house carefully. It’s possible something like that was built-in when the house was remodeled in Civil War times. As a protective measure, you know.”

“Then, if you have no objection, I believe I’ll have a look around and see if I can locate anything unusual.”

“Certainly,” Rosemary assured her. “You’re free to do anything you like, and we’ll help you all we can. Where will you start?”

“I may as well begin in the attic and work down.”

“If you go up there you’ll need candles. It’s very dark. You see, we’ve never had the house wired for electricity.”

Rosemary hurried to the kitchen, and returned in a few minutes with half a dozen large tallow candles. Before concentrating her attention upon the attic, Nancy made a preliminary survey of the entire mansion.

The house consisted of fifteen large rooms. On the first floor, in addition to the kitchen, butler’s pantry, and dining room, there was a drawing room, a library, a sun parlor and a reception hall. Directly beneath the first floor was the basement, which had been broken up into storerooms.

The second floor was devoted to bedchambers. Rosemary explained that one wing of the house had been shut off for years, and this portion of the house at once aroused Nancy’s interest. However, a casual survey of the rooms reveal nothing which would indicate that anyone had visited them in the last six years. A thick accumulation of dust was undisturbed.

“We’ll try the attic first,” Nancy decided. “Later, I’ll go over these other rooms more carefully.”

Single file, Nancy and the two ladies trudged up the narrow stairs leading to the attic. As Nancy opened a door at the head of the stairs, a gust of wind struck her candle and extinguished the flame. Quickly lighting it, she stepped into the attic.

She glanced about curiously, flashing the light into every nook and corner. The attic appeared little different from others Nancy had visited. It was filled with pieces of discarded furniture. A tall highboy stood in one corner, a broken rocking chair in another, and boxes were piled everywhere.

Systematically, Nancy poked into the boxes and went over the walls inch by inch. The latter had a hollow sound, but she was unable to find a spring which would open a panel. If the walls guarded a secret, they guarded it well.

“I guess there’s nothing here,” Nancy admitted after she had spent nearly an hour in the attic.

She was reluctant to leave, for although she had unearthed nothing, she could not help but feel that she had overlooked something of vital importance.

“I was afraid you wouldn’t find anything,” Rosemary commented, as she turned toward the stairs. “Now where?”

“Shall we try the basement?”

The three made their way cautiously down the stairs to the first floor and from there to the kitchen. As they descended into the dark cellar, an unpleasant musty odor assailed their nostrils.

A few minutes search convinced Nancy that the basement was not worth bothering about. The floors and walls had been covered with cement and offered no possibility of a trapdoor. However, before returning to the first floor, she looked carefully about in the storerooms to make certain that no one was hiding there.

“Well, our search wasn’t very well rewarded,” Nancy admitted, after the three had returned to the kitchen. “But I’m not ready to give up yet. I intend to have another look to-morrow.”

The investigation of the attic and the basement had taken the better part of the afternoon, and already shadows were beginning to lurk in the nooks and crannies. With the approach of night the house seemed to take on a more formidable atmosphere.

Dinner at The Mansion was rather a strained, formal affair. Rosemary and Nancy made an attempt to keep up a conversation, but without much success. There was a tenseness in the air which everyone felt.

After dinner the three adjourned to the drawing room. Rosemary sat down at the piano and tried to play, but Nancy noticed that her hands trembled. After a time, she gave it up.

Floretta was even less composed than her sister. She sat rigidly on the sofa, with hands tightly clasped. Involuntarily, her eyes roved about the room as though she were looking for someone.

“What an odd piece of furniture,” Nancy commented in an attempt to start a conversation.

“Which piece do you mean?” Rosemary questioned.

“The sofa. I never saw one like it.”

“I don’t wonder. It’s built in.”

“Built in? How odd. I’ve seen built-in bookcases and window seats, but I never heard of a built-in sofa.”

“It was our great grandfather’s idea,” Floretta explained. “I never could see any sense in it myself. I’d much rather have a sofa that could be moved about.”

At nine o’clock, Nancy announced that she would retire, and in obvious relief Floretta and Rosemary arose to follow her example.

“Don’t forget to lock your door,” Rosemary warned her guest, as she said good night at the head of the stairs. “And if anything should happen—scream. We’ll hear you.”

As soon as she was alone in her bedchamber, Nancy Drew locked the door. Then she made a hasty examination of the closet. There was nothing inside. She looked under the bed.

“There’s nothing like caution,” she assured herself. “I don’t believe a ghost will get in here very easily, but just the same I’ll be prepared.”

Unlocking her traveling bag she removed the revolver her father had given her and a flashlight she had thoughtfully included as part of her emergency equipment. Carefully loading the revolver, she placed it under her pillow.

“There!” she exclaimed, with satisfaction. “Any ghost that comes prowling about is apt to meet with a warm reception!”

With that, she sprang into bed. She did not intend to fall asleep at once, but before she knew it, she had dozed off. When she awoke the sun was streaming in the bedroom window.

With a start, Nancy Drew opened her eyes and glanced about the room. So far as she could tell everything was exactly as she had left it. Hurriedly dressing, she went downstairs. Rosemary and Floretta were there ahead of her, and breakfast was nearly ready.

“Did you sleep well?” Rosemary asked her.

“Like a log.”

“I scarcely shut my eyes all night.”

“But surely nothing happened to alarm you?” she asked.

“No, I didn’t hear a sound.”

After breakfast Nancy once more began the task of investigating the walls of the various rooms in the hope of discovering a sliding panel. She spent the morning going over the downstairs rooms. She tapped the walls with a small hammer and even looked behind the heavy pictures.

“I’m certain there must be a secret opening in this house somewhere,” she told herself. “But it doesn’t look as though I am going to find it very easily.”

In the afternoon she devoted her attention to the bedrooms, but without success. That night she again slept with the revolver under her pillow.

The next day was a repetition of the one that had gone before. Nancy began to wonder if there really was a mystery connected with the old house.

“Can it be that Rosemary and Floretta only imagine strange things that have been happening?” she asked herself.

That night when she retired, she was half inclined not to place the revolver under her pillow as usual, for it seemed a rather unnecessary precaution. Upon second thought, however, she decided it would be wise not to take a chance.

After climbing into bed and blowing out the light, she did not fall asleep at once. The window curtains were up, permitting the moonlight to stream in, and for some time Nancy watched the shadows of the trees dance on the white walls of the room.

“I wonder if those shadows were the ones Rosemary and Floretta saw?” she thought.

After about half an hour she dozed off, but she did not sleep soundly. She awoke in the middle of the night and found that she could not go back to slumber.

“What is the matter with me?” she asked herself. “I feel just as if something were about to happen!”

The house was as quiet as a tomb. Yet there was something about the silence which was ominous.

“This will never do,” Nancy chided herself severely, as she felt a cold chill creeping over her.

Resolutely, she closed her eyes, but sleep would not come. She tried the time-worn device of counting the sheep, but in vain. It was as though a faculty over which she had no control had elected to maintain a vigil. Restlessly, Nancy Drew tossed about.

Then, just as she was sinking into a light sleep, she was aroused rudely. What was it that had awakened her? She sat up in bed and tried to pierce the darkness.

Then she heard a noise which seemed to come from the floor below. There was a dull thud and then a blood-curdling yell! After that—silence.

When the loud, piercing cry echoed through the old stone house, Nancy Drew instinctively clutched the bedclothing about her neck as though by so doing she could protect herself from an unseen danger. An instant she waited, but the cry was not repeated. There was not a sound to be heard anywhere in the house.

Then, with determination, Nancy sprang from the bed and slipped quickly into her dressing gown and put on her bedroom slippers. Reaching under her pillow, she was relieved to find the revolver and flashlight where she had left them.

The stars were no longer shining and the room was so dark that she could not see a foot ahead of her. Switching on the flashlight, she made her way to the door and gave it a pull. It did not open.

“Am I locked in?” Nancy thought in horror.

In her haste and excitement, she had forgotten that she had fastened the door herself. As she remembered, she turned the key in the lock and jerked open the door.

Stepping out into the corridor, she flashed her light about in all directions. There was no one in sight.

Then the door at the end of the hall opened and Floretta half-stumbled, half-fell into the corridor. As she saw the flashlight, she let out a low cry of fright.

“Be quiet!” Nancy warned.

“Oh, I thought it was the ghost!” Floretta chattered. “Did you hear that terrible scream?”

“Yes, I heard it. Where is Miss Rosemary? See if she is all right.”

“Oh, if Rosemary has been murdered——”

She broke off as Rosemary came out of her room. She, too, was badly frightened, but she was able to maintain a certain amount of composure. The two sisters huddled together near Nancy. Although nearly thirty years older than the girl, they seemed to look to her for protection.

“The cry came from the floor below, or at least that’s the way it sounded to me,” Nancy whispered. “We must go down there and find out what has happened.”

“Go down there?” Floretta wailed. “Never!”

“Sh!” Nancy warned. “Not so loud. We don’t know what danger we are facing.”

“We’ll be murdered if we go down there,” Floretta maintained in a slightly lower tone.

“I have a revolver.”

“I can’t go.”

“Then you stay here,” Rosemary said brusquely, to hide the tremble in her own voice. “If you’re going downstairs, I’ll go with you, Nancy.”

“And leave me here all alone?” Floretta asked desperately.

“Then come along,” Rosemary told her curtly.

Flashlight in hand, Nancy Drew had already started to move toward the steps. Rosemary followed, and Floretta, not to be left alone, brought up the rear.

On the stairway, the three huddled together while Nancy flashed her light about the hall below them. Everything was in perfect order and there was no sign of an intruder.

“It was a ghost! I know it was!” Floretta whispered.

“Be quiet!” Rosemary warned.

Nancy led the way on down the circular stairs. At every step the old boards creaked alarmingly underfoot.

“We’re certainly heralding our approach all right,” Nancy thought grimly. “I hope someone doesn’t take a shot at us!”

This fear she did not communicate to the Turnbull sisters, for she knew that it would take but little to throw them into a frenzy of fright.

Reaching the drawing room, she fumbled about and finally located an oil lamp which she lighted. A survey of the room revealed nothing amiss. Everything seemed in its place, and the trio moved on toward the sun parlor.

“The silver!” Floretta exclaimed suddenly. “Do you suppose it is missing?”

The same thought had just occurred to Nancy, and, turning quickly, she hurried toward the dining room. Floretta and Rosemary followed at a more cautious pace.

The buffet where the silver was kept was locked. Rosemary removed the key from a near-by vase and, fitting it into the lock, opened the door.

“Nothing is missing,” she declared, after she had finished counting the silver.

“I don’t believe the cry came from this room, anyway,” Nancy said thoughtfully. “It seemed to me that it was directly under my bedroom.”

“Then the cry must have come from the library,” Rosemary announced.

“I thought it seemed to come from that direction, too,” Floretta murmured. “It was the most blood-curdling yell I ever heard. Like someone in distress.”

“Shall we search the library?” Nancy interrupted.

“Lead the way,” Rosemary told her grimly.

With revolver held ready for instant use, Nancy Drew started in the direction of the library. The Turnbull sisters, who still huddled together, kept close behind her. Scarcely had they taken a dozen steps when Floretta paused and looked anxiously back over her shoulder.

“What was that?” she whispered fearfully.

“What?” Nancy asked impatiently, turning around. “I didn’t hear anything.”

“I thought I heard footsteps behind me,” Floretta murmured nervously.

“You must have been mistaken,” Rosemary said firmly. “I heard nothing.”

Nancy was certain that Floretta’s nerves were getting the best of her, but nevertheless, to make sure that they were not being followed, she paused and strained her ears to catch a sound. She could hear nothing.

“You must have been mistaken,” she said quietly, again moving on.

In the face of danger, Nancy Drew was cool and collected, but even for her it was a nerve-wracking experience to move through the dimly lighted old mansion, uncertain as to what lay just ahead. At any moment they might be walking into a trap.

She opened the library door cautiously, half-expecting something to spring out and pounce upon her. As she flashed her light about the room she was relieved to see that everything was in order. But was it?

Her eye rested upon a ladder-back chair which had been pushed up against the bookcase. Surely, Rosemary and Floretta would not have left it that way, for they were both excellent housekeepers and meticulous about details.

Rosemary’s eyes had fallen upon the same chair.

“Someone has been in here!” she exclaimed.

Her eyes slowly traveled upward to the top of the bookcase. She gave a little scream.

“My silver urn! It’s gone! Someone has stolen my urn!”

“The silver urn is gone!” Rosemary repeated, as though unable to believe her eyes. “Someone has taken it! And it can never be replaced.”

“It was a family heirloom,” Floretta added morosely. “We’ve had it ever since grandmother died. It was handed down from one generation to another.”

“It was valuable, too,” Rosemary went on. “It was solid silver. We had been offered five hundred dollars for it by a jeweler, but of course we refused the offer. Oh, I can’t bear to lose it!” She sank into a chair and looked as though she were about to cry.

“Perhaps we’ll find it somewhere,” Nancy offered hopefully. “Are you certain it was left in the library?”

“Oh, yes, it was on the top of the bookcase. We’ve kept it there for years.”

“First a spoon, then a pocketbook, next my pin, and now the urn,” Floretta reviewed pessimistically. “It’s too much. I know there’s a ghost in this house.”

“A ghost wouldn’t have needed a chair to reach the top of the bookcase,” Nancy commented dryly.

“That’s so,” Rosemary agreed. “The chair is pushed up against the bookcase! But how did the thief get into the house?”

“If we knew the answer to that question, I think the mystery would be solved,” Nancy returned. “Were the doors all locked last night before you went to bed?”

“Oh, yes, I was very careful.”

“And the windows?”

“All bolted.”

“I can’t understand it,” Nancy murmured, perplexed.

She examined the room as carefully as she could in the dim light but was unable to find any additional traces of the midnight prowler.

“The thief seems to have vanished into thin air,” she said at last. “I don’t believe there is any use to search to-night. We may as well go back to bed.”

“I couldn’t sleep a wink,” Floretta interposed. “I am going to sit up the rest of the night.”

“So am I,” Rosemary added.

“Then we may as well bring our blankets down here,” Nancy declared. “I don’t think the thief will return to-night, but at least we can be prepared.”

Accordingly, the three settled themselves in comfortable chairs, and spent the remainder of the night snugly wrapped in warm blankets. Nancy and Rosemary occasionally dozed off into a light slumber, but Floretta was too nervous to permit herself to go to sleep. Although the light was burning, her eyes continually roved about the room, fearfully searching the darker corners.

At the first indication of dawn, Rosemary, with Nancy assisting her, prepared breakfast. Hot coffee went a long way toward reviving the spirits of the trio. And with the rising of the sun, the old house seemed less oppressive and fearful.

As soon as breakfast was over, Nancy set herself to the task of going over the library minutely. She examined the walls inch by inch, but found no indication of a secret panel. With Rosemary’s help, she even moved the heavy bookcase, but there was nothing behind it. The furniture occupied but little of her time, for with the exception of a built-in sofa similar to the one in the drawing room, it was all very ordinary and offered no possibility of a hiding place. Nancy did examine the bookcase and the chairs for fingerprints, but her search was not rewarded. There was not a single clue which pointed to the identity of the thief.

Nor was the missing urn found anywhere in the place. All day Nancy searched, but in vain. She was bitterly disappointed, for she had hoped to be able to help Rosemary and Floretta. The ordeal of the night had frightened them a great deal, and they began to talk seriously of leaving the house at the end of the week.

“It will be better to close it up than to endure another week like the past one,” Rosemary admitted. “I don’t like to be driven away, but I see no other way.”

Nancy said nothing, but mentally resolved that she would never leave The Mansion until she had solved the mystery. When her father arrived on his way home from Chicago, she would tell him everything and turn the case over to him.

The next two days and nights were uneventful, greatly to the surprise of everyone. Rosemary and Floretta began to show the effects of the strain under which they labored.

“I declare, I’d almost as soon something would happen as to keep thinking it’s going to every minute,” Rosemary sighed.

With the passing of the days, Nancy Drew became quiet and thoughtful. She had a new worry which she did not communicate to the Turnbull sisters.

When her father had left for Chicago he had promised that he would return within a week and that he would send her a telegram stating the exact hour he expected to arrive in Cliffwood. For several days Nancy had been anxiously looking for the message, but it had not arrived. Why had her father failed to keep his promise?

“It’s possible Dad didn’t get his business accomplished as quickly as he expected,” she assured herself. “I’ll probably get the telegram to-morrow.”

But the expected message did not arrive on the following day, and now Nancy began to worry in earnest. Surely, her father would have wired her if he had been delayed, she told herself. What could have happened?

“Perhaps he decided not to stop at Cliffwood, and went on to River Heights,” she reasoned.

Glancing at the calendar she saw that it was a full week since her father had left home. By this time she had expected to return to River Heights herself, and she had asked Hannah to open the house before her arrival.

“If only there were a telephone here,” she fretted. “I could call home and find out if Dad is there yet.”

The more she thought of it, the more anxious she became, and at last, to relieve her mind, she decided to drive to Cliffwood and make the telephone call. This intention she communicated to Rosemary and Floretta.

“You’ll not be gone long, will you?” Rosemary questioned anxiously. “We’ve decided not to stay in this house another night alone. When you leave, we’re going too.”

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Nancy promised. “I only want to make a telephone call.”

“I’m sorry we haven’t one here,” Rosemary apologized. “It’s so much bother to go into Cliffwood.”

“I really don’t mind at all. I’ll enjoy the ride.”

As Nancy left The Mansion behind, she breathed more freely. There was something about the place that was oppressive. She drove rapidly and soon reached the main part of Cliffwood. Entering a corner drug store, she telephoned to her own home. After a short wait, Hannah Gruen answered.

“Is my father home yet?” Nancy asked, after a few preliminary remarks.

“No, I haven’t heard from him since he left,” came the response.

Nancy hung up the receiver and leaned against the side of the telephone booth. What could it mean? Why had her father failed to notify anyone of his change of plans? It was not at all like him.

“I have a notion to telegraph to Chicago and find out if he has left there,” she thought. “I believe I have the address of the firm he went to see.”

Opening her purse, she fished about and after pulling out several wrong cards, found the one for which she was searching.

“Now to find a telegraph office,” she decided, as she left the drug store.

She found one only a few doors away, and, having entered, wrote out a brief message and handed it to the clerk at the desk.

“When the answer comes have it sent to the Turnbull Mansion,” she told the man.

After paying the charges, she left the office and slowly made her way back to the roadster.

“Now, back to the haunted house,” she told herself grimly. “I’m beginning to feel that I’ll never solve the mystery by myself. I’ll be glad when Dad gets here so he can help me.”

As she approached The Mansion, Nancy’s attention was attracted to another stone house only a short distance away. In general appearance it bore a striking resemblance to The Mansion.

“I wonder who lives there?” she thought. “I must inquire when I get back to The Mansion.”

However, for the time being, Nancy was too troubled about her father to devote much thought to the mystery of the old house, and before she reached The Mansion she had forgotten the question she had intended to ask.

The evenings at The Mansion were all alike. Dinner was served at seven o’clock in the big, gloomy dining room, and after that the three adjourned to the drawing room. There was no radio and no evening paper. With the deepening of the shadows, the conversation became stilted and difficult. By nine o’clock everyone was glad of the opportunity to retire.

All afternoon Nancy had waited hopefully for an answer to her telegram, but it had not arrived. She would have made another trip to the telegraph office in the evening, but she knew that Rosemary and Floretta would be afraid to stay in the house alone.

At nine o’clock Nancy went to her room, but she did not fall asleep for hours.

“I have the strangest feeling,” she thought. “It’s just as though something had happened to Dad. Of course it’s silly of me!”

But try as she would, she could not free herself of the conviction, and when she arose in the morning it was still with her. She ate very little for breakfast, but her lack of appetite passed unnoticed by the Turnbull sisters. As she was about to leave the table, there came a ring of the front doorbell.

Rosemary and Floretta exchanged frightened glances.

“Who—who can it be, do you suppose?” Floretta stammered.

“I’ll go,” Nancy said quickly. “I think it must be for me.”

She left the dining room and hastened to open the front door. As she had expected, it was a uniformed messenger boy.

“Telegram for Nancy Drew,” he said curtly.

“I am Miss Drew.”

“Then sign here.”

Nancy complied with the request and eagerly accepted the yellow envelope. As she tore open the flap and scanned the message a frightened look came over her face. The telegram had been sent by the law firm in Chicago and confirmed her worst fears.

The message read:

For a full minute Nancy Drew stood staring blankly at the telegram in her hand. She read it a second time, although she knew every word by memory.

Worry assailed her anew. If her father had left Chicago two days before, as the telegram indicated, he would have reached Cliffwood before this even if he had come on the slowest train. Surely, something must have happened to him en route. What had delayed him?

After a moment’s reflection, Nancy entered the house, intending to tell the Turnbull sisters about the telegram and ask their advice. She was destined never to carry the thought into action, for as she closed the door behind her she heard a wild shriek from above. It seemed to come from Floretta’s room.

Fearing the worst, Nancy sprang toward the stairs and took them two at a time. Rosemary came running from the kitchen.

Reaching Floretta’s room, Nancy thrust open the door.

“What is it?” she cried.

Floretta stood in the center of the room, wringing her hands in anguish.

“My dresses have been stolen!”

“Your dresses?” Nancy echoed.

“Yes, while we were at breakfast. Someone entered my room and took three of my best black silk dresses. And that isn’t the worst. Look up there!”

Wonderingly, Nancy turned her eyes toward a picture which hung over the bed. What she saw caused her to gasp in astonishment.

On the frame perched two live canary birds!

“Oh!” Rosemary screamed. She had entered the room behind Nancy and her eyes had fallen upon the picture frame.

“It’s wizardry!” Floretta moaned.

Cautiously, Nancy moved toward the picture.

“Don’t touch those birds,” Rosemary advised.

“Why, they’re only tame little canaries,” Nancy said, gently removing one from the frame. “See!”

“Don’t bring that bird near me!” Floretta cried. “It’s an evil omen.”

“I never heard of a canary being called an omen of bad luck,” Nancy returned, studying the bird curiously. “A canary is a rather happy little bird. This one is, anyway.”

“Get them out of the house,” Floretta pleaded.

Obligingly, Nancy opened the window and set the two canaries free.

“How did they ever get in here, anyway?” Rosemary demanded. “We never had a bird in our lives.”

Nancy was dumbfounded. Never had she heard of a more puzzling mystery. Had the canaries been left in the room by the same person who had stolen Floretta’s dresses? Unquestionably, the birds could not have flown in a window, for they were kept carefully screened.

So many strange things had occurred in the house. Unexplainable music and shadows, and the sound of footsteps in the night. Then a spoon had disappeared, next a pocketbook, a diamond pin, an urn, and now Floretta’s silk dresses.

Nancy lost no time in examining the closet and the walls of the room, but she could find no clue which suggested in what manner an entrance had been effected. Apparently, the windows had not been opened.

Nancy felt almost humiliated. She had promised to help Floretta and Rosemary, and so far she had not even gained a clue! Many things had happened under her very nose, and yet she had been unable to put her hands on the thief. There must be an explanation for everything if only she could think of it!

As she stood absorbed in her own unpleasant thoughts, a sudden idea came to her.

“Do you know of anyone who wants to force you out of this house?” she demanded.

Rosemary shook her head.

“Why, no. Why should anyone want to do that?”

“Is there anyone who wants to buy the house?”

“We’ve had several offers from real estate men. There’s some talk that the city wants this house for a historical museum.”

“And the real estate men are trying to get it cheap in the hope of selling to the city and making a neat profit for themselves,” Nancy summarized shrewdly.

“That’s about it.”

“You don’t intend to sell?”

“We didn’t—until lately. At least not unless we could get our price for it. Now, we’d be lucky to sell it for anything, I guess. No one wants a haunted house.”

Nancy was eager to learn more, for now she felt that she had stumbled upon her first clue. She was convinced that someone was trying to force the Misses Turnbull from their home and, by frightening them, induce them to sell The Mansion at a low figure.

“Who has tried to purchase the place?” she asked quickly.

“Well, there’s John O’Conley,” Floretta told her.

“What sort of man is he?”

“Oh, I’m sure he is honest. We’ve known him all our lives.”

“And there was H. D. Fellows, another real estate agent,” Rosemary added thoughtfully. “He made us a very straightforward offer, but he wasn’t willing to meet our price. However, he was very nice about it when we told him we wouldn’t sell.”

“Were there any others?”

“Oh, Nathan Gombet! But we didn’t consider his offer seriously,” Rosemary continued.

Nancy pricked up her ears at the information. Here was genuine news!

“Nathan Gombet!” she exclaimed. “What sort of an offer did he make you?”

“Oh, Gombet isn’t honest,” Floretta broke in feelingly. “We won’t have anything to do with him any more. You see, he claimed we gave him an option to buy our house for six thousand dollars.”

“Six thousand! Why, that’s ridiculous. Surely, you didn’t give such an option?”

“Mercy, no! But Gombet claims we did.”

“The house is worth at least twenty thousand,” Rosemary declared. “And if the city should decide to use it for a historical museum, we ought to get even more than that for it.”

“I should think so,” Nancy agreed. “Gombet was trying to cheat you.”

“We never gave him any sort of option,” Floretta insisted. “We wouldn’t do business with him at any price, because we couldn’t trust him. He would cheat us out of our eye teeth!”

“How long ago did all this happen?”

“Oh, it must have been nearly a year ago,” Rosemary said, trying to recall. “It was last spring.”

“The matter went to court?”

“No. Nathan Gombet threatened to make trouble and he said he would sue us, but nothing ever came of it.”

“We had forgotten all about him until you brought up the subject,” Floretta added.

“Then, have you heard nothing more from him since?”

“He threatened us once,” Rosemary told Nancy. “Said he would make us sorry we hadn’t sold at his price. But nothing ever came of the threat.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Two or three months ago, I should judge.”

Nancy Drew nodded thoughtfully and relapsed into deep meditation. She was now convinced that Nathan Gombet had some connection with the mysterious things which had been going on in the old house. Perhaps he was trying to frighten Rosemary and Floretta so that they would be glad to sell at his price.

“Gombet hasn’t approached you with a new offer recently, has he?” she asked.

Floretta shook her head.

“We haven’t seem him for some time, and we don’t want to either.”

“You don’t think Gombet has had anything to do with what has happened lately, do you?” Rosemary questioned the girl.

“Of course I don’t know, but I’m beginning to suspect there may be a connection,” Nancy returned. “At least, I intend to investigate that line and see what it leads to.”

“To be sure, there’s nothing in Nathan Gombet’s character that would prevent his using any underhand method to induce us to sell him this house,” said Rosemary musingly. “Still, I don’t see what opportunity he’s had to do what’s been done here. He hasn’t been near us for some time, you know, Nancy.”

“That’s true,” replied the girl. “But someone must have made the opportunity. Mr. Gombet has the motive and is so lacking in any sense of honor that would keep him from injuring you in this way, that I believe he furnishes the best lead to follow.”

With that she left the bedroom and went to her own room farther down the hall. But as she sat by the window trying to think her way through the jumble of information she had gleaned, she found it difficult to keep her mind on the mystery.

After a time she took the crumpled telegram she had received earlier that morning from her pocket and studied it again. How could she interest herself in a mystery when her father was missing? What had happened to him? Oh, if only she could answer that question!