After taking leave of his daughter at the River Heights railroad station, Carson Drew boarded the Chicago train. Upon arriving in the city he lost no time in dispatching the business which had brought him to the great city on the lake. He had expected to remain in Chicago a full week, but so successful were his negotiations that his business was completed a day earlier than he had anticipated.

“I may as well send Nancy a telegram and return a day earlier,” Mr. Drew decided.

Accordingly, he sent his daughter a message to the effect that he would arrive at the Cliffwood station the following morning. He then boarded the night flyer. He did not dream that the telegram would never reach Nancy. It was destined to fall into the hands of an enemy.

Oblivious of impending danger, Mr. Drew settled himself comfortably in the Pullman and took up a newspaper. The train had been moving perhaps an hour when the conductor came through and paused at his seat.

“Carson Drew?” he inquired.

“That’s my name.”

“Then here’s a telegram for you. We picked it up at the last station.”

Wonderingly, Mr. Drew accepted the envelope and quickly ripped it open. He smiled with pleasure as he read the message:

“Well, I’m glad to know she received my message,” he thought, “though I didn’t expect her to answer the telegram. I’m greatly relieved that nothing happened to her while I was in Chicago. Somehow, I didn’t like the idea of letting her go off to that old stone house by herself. Anything might have happened.”

Relieved that all was well with his daughter, Carson Drew settled himself to enjoy the evening paper. After reading it for perhaps an hour, he tossed it aside and went out to the observation car to give the porter an opportunity to make up his berth. After smoking a cigar he returned and before he retired left an order for the porter to call him in the morning.

In spite of the sway and rumble of the train, he slept soundly and did not open his eyes until the porter called him.

“Twenty minutes out of Cliffwood, suh.”

Mr. Drew dressed himself hastily and prepared to get off at the station. He was eager to see Nancy again, for it seemed a month since he had been at home. It was nice of her to offer to meet him at such an early hour, he told himself. It was not yet seven o’clock.

The train came to a stop, and he swung from the step to the platform. Where was Nancy? Carson Drew glanced about in all directions, but his daughter was not in sight. Perhaps she had been delayed, he thought. Oh, well, no matter. He would wait a few minutes, and then if she failed to come along, he could call a taxi.

He picked up his bag and started toward the waiting room, but he had taken less than a dozen steps when he saw a man hurrying toward him. Carson Drew frowned as he saw who it was. He had no desire to meet Nathan Gombet. Undoubtedly, the man would try to argue with him again about his so-called property rights on the river.

“That fellow is a pest,” Mr. Drew told himself. “Just my luck to run into him.”

But as Nathan Gombet approached, he could not help but see that the man was laboring under great excitement.

“Wonder what’s the matter with him now?” he asked himself curiously.

Nathan Gombet came straight toward him.

“Oh, Mr. Drew,” he cried as he came up, “I have terrible news! Your daughter has been injured! You must come quickly!”

“Nancy is hurt?” Mr. Drew grasped him roughly by the arm. “It can’t be!”

“She’s badly injured. But the doctors think she has a chance to pull through.”

“How horrible!” Carson Drew groaned.

“She’s calling for you. You must come quickly!”

“Take me to her!”

In his anxiety to reach the daughter he loved so dearly, Carson Drew became almost frantic.

“Here, jump in!” Gombet ordered.

He opened the front door of a battered auto which stood near the platform. Mr. Drew, bewildered and shocked from the crushing news, obeyed without question.

Gombet scrambled in after him. He took the wheel and with one quick glance about started off down the street.

The station on this side was practically deserted and no one saw the car depart.

“Where is Nancy?” Mr. Drew demanded.

“At my house.”

“At your house?” Mr. Drew asked, in surprise. “Didn’t they take her to a hospital?”

“She was too badly injured to be moved,” Nathan explained glibly.

“Oh, my poor little girl,” Carson Drew murmured brokenly. A moment later he said, “You didn’t tell me how she was hurt.”

“In an automobile accident. Her roadster ran off into a ditch.”

“And she was taken to your place?”

Mr. Drew did not like the look on Nathan Gombet’s face. Was the man deceiving him? No, it was more likely he was trying to keep Nancy’s true condition from him. Perhaps she had been so seriously injured that she was practically at the point of death. The thought nearly drove him wild.

“The accident occurred in front of my house,” Gombet continued, trying to make his explanation appear plausible. “The doctor brought her inside.”

“Oh, and Nancy was always such a safe driver, too.”

“I didn’t see the accident myself, but they say the steering gear broke.”

“Tell me, will she live?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

The drive, though not a long one, seemed endless to Carson Drew. Nancy! His daughter! His little girl! The widowed father and the motherless girl were very close to each other. In what condition would he find her when he reached the end of this soul-trying drive? Was she conscious? Was she alive? He turned impatiently to Nathan Gombet.

“Hurry!” Mr. Drew urged. “I can’t get there quickly enough!”

“The car won’t go any faster,” Gombet grunted.

And indeed it would not. Gombet was already driving as fast as he dared. Carson Drew was so worried that he asked no more questions but kept his eyes glued upon the road.

Gombet drove furiously and they soon reached the outskirts of Cliffwood. Presently they came within sight of two large stone houses, and Nathan Gombet turned in at one of them.

“I live here,” he explained.

Carson Drew did not so much as give the house a casual glance. The instant the car stopped he sprang to the ground and started for the door. Quick as he was, Nathan Gombet was ahead of him. He opened the door for the lawyer and led the way through the kitchen where a fat, slovenly looking colored woman was working over the stove.

Had Mr. Drew not been intent upon reaching the bedside of his daughter, he would have observed that the colored woman received a significant nod from Nathan Gombet as he passed near her.

The moment the two men had passed into the next room, she walked over and quietly locked the outside door.

“This way,” Nathan directed.

He opened a door and indicated a long, dark stairway. Without hesitation, Carson Drew followed him. He went up a flight of circular stairs and at last came to a landing.

Nathan paused and indicated a door to the left.

“Your daughter is in there,” he said.

There was an eager, cruel gleam in his eyes, but Carson Drew did not notice.

“It won’t frighten her for me to go right in?” the lawyer asked anxiously.

“No, it won’t frighten her.”

Hesitating no longer, Carson Drew opened the door and stepped inside. To his surprise the room was dark. The curtains were pulled down over the windows and at first he could see nothing. Then, as his eyes became accustomed to the darkness, he saw that he was not in a bedroom. The place had every appearance of a prison.

Carson Drew realized that he had walked into a trap.

He wheeled about and faced Nathan Gombet who stood in the doorway, eying him, gloating upon him.

“What does this mean?” he demanded sharply. “Where is Nancy?”

“It means that you are my prisoner,” Gombet retorted, with an evil leer. “Before I get through with you I guess you’ll come to terms about that property!”

With that he slammed the door shut and before Carson Drew could make a move turned the key in the lock. As the old miser trudged down the corridor, his hollow laughter echoed through the house.

As he heard the key turn in the lock, Carson Drew stood for a moment as though paralyzed.

Things had happened so rapidly since he had left the train at the Cliffwood station that he could scarcely think logically. The fear that Nancy had been injured had driven everything else from his mind. Now he realized that all unwittingly he had walked into a trap.

Angrily, he jerked at the door, but it would not give. He kicked at it savagely, but after a few minutes was convinced that it could not be broken down even with a ram, for it was made of extra heavy wood. He did not cry out for help, for he realized that there was no one near who could aid him.

At last he sank down into a chair. What a fool he had been not to suspect a plot! It was all clear to him now. Undoubtedly, Gombet had intercepted the telegram which he had sent to Nancy, or in some way had learned of the lawyer’s intended visit to Cliffwood. He had lied about Nancy in order to induce him to come to this house.

“I don’t care what Nathan does to me, if only Nancy is safe,” Carson Drew thought.

What had become of her? He did not believe she had been hurt as Nathan had stated, but it was possible that the miser had taken her prisoner also.

Nervously, Carson Drew paced the floor. The room was dark, but as his eyes became accustomed to it, he noticed a small window far above. The window was heavily barred.

“Evidently this room was fitted up for a prison,” he told himself grimly. “I imagine Nathan Gombet has been biding his time to get me here.”

There was little furniture in the room—nothing but a cot, a table, and a chair. Mr. Drew pulled the table across the room and by standing on it was able to look out of the window.

The courtyard was far below, and one glance disclosed the fact that even if it were possible to break the bars, he could not hope to escape. It would be suicide to drop to the ground, and there was no tree or building near by.

“Nathan thought of everything,” Carson Drew observed dryly. “He has me completely at his mercy.”

Just what Gombet would do with him, Mr. Drew did not know, but he suspected the miser would go to any length to gain his end.

“I’ll never give in to him!” he resolved firmly.

Presently, glancing out of the window again, he noticed a stone house some distance away which appeared not unlike the one in which he was imprisoned.

“Can that be the Turnbull house?” he questioned himself.

He tried to recall the description Nancy had given him, and every detail tallied. He was convinced that the stone house was indeed The Mansion.

“I wonder if Nancy is still there?” flashed through his mind. “Oh, if only she returns to River Heights before that fiend gets his hands on her!” It was characteristic of Carson Drew to think of his daughter’s safety before his own. She was always first.

As the hours dragged slowly on, he kept a close watch of the neighboring house, hoping to catch a glimpse of Nancy or someone to whom he could signal. At noon the colored woman appeared with his luncheon, which consisted of bread and water, shoved through a small hole at the bottom of the door. Mr. Drew drank the water but did not touch the bread.

All afternoon he maintained his watch at the tiny window. The Turnbull home appeared deserted. What had become of Nancy? Had she already departed, or was she, too, held a prisoner at the hands of Gombet?

Toward evening, Carson Drew was startled to hear heavy footsteps in the corridor. He scrambled down from the window, but there was not enough time to move the table back into place.

Nathan Gombet stepped into the room. Carefully locking the door, he placed an oil lamp on the table and gave Carson Drew a gloating grin.

“How do you like it here by this time?” he asked with elaborate politeness.

“Oh, it’s very pleasant,” Mr. Drew returned sarcastically. “You may as well put your cards on the table, Nathan Gombet. What do you want of me?”

Nathan became intently eager.

“You know what I want,” he muttered. “You must pay me for my land and sign a paper that you will not prosecute. If you will do that, I’ll let you go free.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes,” Nathan smiled gleefully. “I want a check for twenty thousand dollars. And if you know what’s wise, you’ll hand it over without batting an eyelash.”

Carson Drew smiled grimly.

“You old reprobate! You’ll never get a cent!”

While he had been talking, Mr. Drew had done fast thinking. Now, he made a sudden spring toward Nathan Gombet, intending to overpower him. Quick as the action was, the old miser was prepared. Taking a step backwards, he deliberately pulled a gun upon the lawyer.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” he snarled. “And just for that trick I’m going to tie you up!”

Still covering Mr. Drew with the revolver and never taking his eyes from the lawyer’s face, Gombet cautiously backed up to the door and unlocked it. The heavy-set colored woman whom Mr. Drew had seen in the kitchen came into the room so quickly that it was obvious she had been standing just outside the door ready to aid the miser when summoned.

“Tie him up!” Nathan ordered harshly.

“Yes, suh.”

The colored woman disappeared, to return in a few minutes with heavy ropes. As she waddled across the floor she clumsily brushed against Nathan and entangled one of his feet in the rope.

“Take care what you’re doing,” the miser reprimanded her sharply.

He gave the rope a savage kick, and then emitted a howl of pain.

“Tarnation, but that leg does hurt,” he muttered. “Fell on a broken stair step and just about killed myself. Leg’s pained me ever since!” He wheeled upon the colored woman as though she were responsible for his misfortune, but without ceasing to cover Carson Drew with the revolver. “Get a move on there! Tie that man up and be quick about it!”

“Yes, suh.”

Sullenly, the colored woman set herself to the task. With the pistol staring him in the face, the lawyer dared not resist. He was pushed roughly into a chair and securely bound to it with the heavy ropes.

“Now how do you like it?” Nathan Gombet demanded, with satisfaction, when the task had been completed.

Carson Drew did not give him the pleasure of an answer.

“Now, will you come to my terms?”

“I will not!”

Nathan stared at the lawyer in disbelief. He had not believed that Mr. Drew would dare defy him.

“That’s your final decision?”

“It is.”

“You’ll be glad enough to come to my terms when I get through with you, Carson Drew!”

“Do your worst.” Carson Drew smiled provokingly. Then his eyes narrowed. “But remember this. You’ll be brought to justice in the end, and when you are, the law won’t be lenient with you!”

“The law!” Gombet laughed scornfully. “A lot of good it will ever do you! You’ll never see your daughter or your friends again unless you give me the money. Will you sign the papers?”

“I’ve given you your answer. Can’t you understand plain English?”

“All right, I’ve given you your last chance!” Nathan’s face became convulsed with rage. “In a day or so you’ll be glad enough to do as I ask. I’ll starve you to it!”

Carson Drew shrugged his shoulders indifferently. Nathan Gombet saw that his threat had made little impression upon the lawyer.

“And if that ain’t enough to bring you to time,” he added with a wicked laugh. “I’ll get your daughter here, too!”

A look of horror came into Mr. Drew’s eyes.

“You couldn’t do that! Why, you don’t even know where she is!”

“Oh, don’t I? She’s right at the Turnbulls’ house. I can get her here easily any night. Just have to dope her a bit, that’s all.”

“You fiend!” Carson Drew struggled at his bonds, but he was helpless.

Nathan Gombet laughed again, and turned toward the door.

“No more food or water for you,” he called back, as he turned to leave.

Carson Drew heard the key turn in the lock, and then he was left to sober reflection. He did not doubt that Nathan Gombet would attempt to carry out his ugly threat. That night he might enter The Mansion and abduct Nancy. The thought made him ill.

“What can I do?” he asked himself miserably. “Perhaps, after all, I had better do as Nathan asks.”

For two days after the arrival of the telegram from Chicago which stated that Carson Drew had left for home, Nancy waited hopefully. But as the time passed and no word was received from her father, her anxiety intensified. All sorts of unpleasant thoughts began to trouble her.

Had her father met with an accident? Perhaps, in crossing the street, he had been struck by an automobile. Oh, if only he would come or send word of his whereabouts! The suspense was almost unendurable.

At the repeated urging of Rosemary and Floretta, she consented to remain at The Mansion until she received news from her father. But the strain of waiting was beginning to tell heavily upon her. Since Carson Drew had left River Heights, she had not even received a letter from him.

Nancy’s interest in the mystery of the old stone house gradually lessened. She was still determined to solve the enigma, but the fear that something had happened to her father overshadowed all else.

Since the theft of the silk dresses from Floretta’s room, nothing had happened to disturb the tranquility of the Turnbull household, although an atmosphere of suspense seemed to hover over the entire house. Sometimes Nancy thought that the very silence of the place would drive her into hysterics. She longed to depart, but for the sake of Floretta and Rosemary she remained.

Several times she had searched the house in the hope of finding secret openings in the walls, but although when she rapped them a few had a hollow sound, she was never able to find any hidden door. It was discouraging.

Since Nancy had learned that Nathan Gombet was endeavoring to purchase the Turnbull mansion at a ridiculously low price, she felt that she had struck a valuable clue. In her own mind she was firmly convinced that the miser had some connection with the strange things which had been going on in the old house. She had no way of establishing the identity of the thief, but she was certain that it was either Gombet or someone employed by him.

“He intends to scare Rosemary and Floretta into selling at any price,” Nancy thought. “It’s up to me to quench his little game!”

She was at a loss to know what course to follow. If only her father were there to give her advice!

“As a last resort I’ll go to Gombet and have a talk with him,” she decided. “By skillful questioning I may be able to learn something which will incriminate him.”

Nancy was well aware that Nathan Gombet was clever as well as scheming. It would be difficult to convict him of entering The Mansion, that she knew. She could not cause him to be arrested upon suspicion.

“I must find a way to prove that he is the guilty one,” she thought. “If I delay too long, something terrible may happen here. That miser is a desperate man when crossed.”

Convinced that it was unwise to postpone her visit to the home of the miser, she determined to visit him that very day, although she dreaded the ordeal.

“Can you tell me where Nathan Gombet lives?” she asked Rosemary at the luncheon table.

“Why, don’t you know?” Rosemary asked. “He lives in the old stone house directly back of us.”

Nancy gave an exclamation of surprise.

“I wish I had known that before.”

“We would have mentioned it, but we thought you knew.”

“You think Gombet has something to do with the mystery?” Floretta questioned curiously.

“I’m almost certain of it. But to prove my theory will not be easy. Nathan is as clever as he is scheming. Tell me, how long has he lived in the stone house?”

“Oh, for years. And a mighty unpleasant neighbor he is, too.”

“I can imagine,” and Nancy smiled grimly.

“You see, there’s quite a story connected with Nathan’s ownership of the house,” Floretta began. “Would you care to hear it?”

“Indeed, I would.”

“The house was originally built by a Turnbull. That explains why it so closely resembles our own.”

“Both homes were built by the same man?” Nancy asked.

“No; by two brothers.” It was Rosemary who answered. “They were devoted to each other, and for that reason they built their houses close together, although, as you can see, they are on different roads.”

“When the Civil War broke out, the brothers had their first disagreement,” Floretta continued the story. “William, the brother who owned this house, was a staunch supporter of the Union, but the other brother joined the Confederate forces.”

“He gave his life as well as his fortune to the cause,” Rosemary broke in.

“He was killed in action,” Floretta finished. “After his death it was learned that he had heavily mortgaged his home. Everything went to pay the debts. The house passed from one person to another until finally it fell into the hands of Nathan Gombet.”

“But why does he want to buy your home?” Nancy demanded, with a puzzled frown. “If he hopes to sell to the city, why doesn’t he give up his own house.”

“The city doesn’t want it,” Rosemary explained. “He did try to sell. His house doesn’t have as interesting a history as ours does, and he has permitted it to run down. It’s in a terrible condition now. I shouldn’t be surprised any day to see it tumble from its foundation.”

“Nathan has always been queer,” Floretta remarked. “As long as we can remember he has lived alone.”

“Not exactly alone,” Rosemary broke in. “He keeps a servant. A colored woman who looks as though she were an ogre.”

“And birds,” Floretta added. “His house fairly swarms with them. When they die, he stuffs them! Ug!” She shuddered. “You couldn’t hire me to go near his place.”

“You say he keeps birds?” Nancy inquired, with quickening interest. “What kind?”

“Oh, most every kind, I guess,” Rosemary answered. “Parrots. You can hear them screeching clear over here sometimes.”

“Does he keep canaries?” Nancy questioned eagerly.

“Oh, yes,” Rosemary agreed.

The significance of the question did not dawn upon Rosemary and Floretta, and Nancy did not tell them what was in her mind. At once she had thought of the two canaries which had found their way into The Mansion so mysteriously. Was it not likely that Nathan Gombet had brought the birds from his own home? But how had he succeeded in entering the mansion without being discovered? That question remained unanswered.

“I must visit the other house without delay,” she told herself. “But how can I manage it? If I openly call upon Mr. Gombet he’s certain to suspect my purpose and perhaps hold me a prisoner.”

If only she could find a way to enter the house without Nathan’s knowledge!

“I’ll keep a close watch on the house, and I may see him leave,” she decided. “If I do—that will be my chance.”

Nancy was excited at the information which she had secured, and was eager for action. She felt that the solution to the mystery was almost within her grasp.

She laid her plans carefully. She refrained from telling Rosemary and Floretta of her intention to visit Gombet’s house, for she knew they would be afraid to permit her to attempt the dangerous mission.

“If conditions are right, I’ll slip away this very night,” she resolved.

All that afternoon she moved restlessly about the house, making frequent trips to the window to glance searchingly toward the old stone dwelling which was half-hidden by tall trees.

“Time never dragged more slowly,” Nancy complained. “I wish night would come.”

She ate little dinner, for as the hour approached, she realized more keenly than before that she was about to undertake a dangerous adventure. Clouds had been forming in the sky all afternoon, and by the time the shadows began to gather a drizzly rain had set in. Nothing could have pleased her more.

“What a horrible night,” Floretta remarked nervously as she glanced at the rain-splashed windows. “I hope we don’t have another visit from our ghost. It’s just the sort of night for something to happen.”

Rosemary looked displeased at this audible expression of her sister’s nervousness.

Nancy smiled reassuringly.

“I have a feeling that this is going to be an unlucky night for our ghost,” she said evenly. “And now, if you will excuse me, I believe I’ll retire early.”

After saying good night to Rosemary and Floretta, Nancy Drew went directly to her room. But she did not prepare for bed. On this night she had an important mission ahead of her.

Nancy Drew dressed herself in garments that would resist the rain, and then removed her flashlight and pistol from their hiding places. The latter she examined carefully to make certain it was loaded and ready for instant use.

“I may need it to-night,” she assured herself grimly. “No telling what I’ll get into.”

Nancy was in a hurry to get away, and it seemed that the Turnbull sisters were never going to bed. Presently, she heard them moving about downstairs and knew they were locking up for the night. After an interminable wait, they came upstairs and went into their respective rooms. A half hour more, and the house was quiet.

“Now is my chance,” Nancy thought. “If only I can get out of here without being heard.”

Hastily slipping into her slicker and pulling a tight-fitting turban over her curly, bobbed hair, she picked up her flashlight and revolver. She opened the bedroom door and listened. All was quiet.

“I feel like a ghost myself,” Nancy chuckled, as she tiptoed past Rosemary’s room.

The floor creaked alarmingly, and she paused, fearful lest she had awakened the Turnbull sisters. She did not wish to frighten them and neither did she wish to explain why she was prowling about at such a late hour.

Apparently the noise had not been heard, for no sound issued from either bedroom. Rosemary and Floretta were both sleeping soundly. After hesitating a moment, Nancy cautiously crept on down the stairway.

She groped her way down the steps and upon reaching the drawing room, turned on the flashlight. Quietly, she made her way to the front door. As she had expected, it was locked.

She felt for the key, but did not find it. Surprised, she flashed her light full upon the lock. The key was not there.

“Just my luck,” she murmured. “Rosemary and Floretta must have hidden it somewhere.”

Softly, she moved through the house to the kitchen and tried the back door. It also was locked and the key likewise was missing.

“Now I am in a nice mess,” Nancy told herself in disgust. “There’s no hope of ever finding the key. I’ll have to go through a window.”

Rosemary and Floretta had not forgotten to lock the windows, but they had been barred from the inside, and the one in the kitchen offered little resistance when Nancy tried it. Quietly raising it, she crawled through and pushed it down when she had reached the ground.

The rain was falling steadily, and a sudden gust of wind blew a wet spray into her face. She did not mind. The blacker and stormier the night, the more effectively it would serve her purpose.

She did not light her flashlight for fear of attracting attention to her movements. Splashing through the mud and water, she tried to pierce the darkness. She could see only a short way ahead, but she knew the exact location of the other house, and headed for it. Her heart began to beat faster as she contemplated the adventure before her. If all went as she planned, she hoped to solve the mystery of the Turnbull mansion before she returned.

As the outlines of the other stone house gradually emerged from the murkiness of the drizzly night, she experienced a sensation of dread. The night’s work was not going to be pleasant, of that she was sure.

There was something about the house which seemed sinister. Through the mistlike rain, the rays of a light in one of the lower rooms shone forth as if in a half-futile attempt to pierce the gloom, while the rest of the house stood dark and somber.

So this was the home of Nathan Gombet, Nancy ruminated. She could not help but feel that the dark, uninviting aspect of the structure provided an abode singularly in keeping with the sinister character of its master.

As she stood in the shadow of the tall maples which surrounded the house, she was uncertain what course it would be wisest to follow. She did not wish to blunder into danger and she especially dreaded an encounter with Nathan Gombet. Yet, if she accomplished anything, she must enter the house, and it must be done this night.

She squared her shoulders and stepped forward. At that very moment the front door of the dwelling opened. Startled, Nancy retreated behind a tree.

A man came out of the house. Unmindful of the rain, he stood for several minutes with his face turned in the direction of the Turnbull mansion.

It was Nathan Gombet.

Nancy recognized him as the light from the window shone full upon his face and clearly defined his features. The stoop of his shoulders was unmistakable.

She crouched behind a tree and waited. What did the miser intend to do? Perhaps he was contemplating another visit to the Turnbull mansion! Otherwise, why would he stand there and stare in that direction?

Nancy could not know that Nathan was deliberately planning a scheme which boded ill for her. The old miser had just ended a stormy interview with Carson Drew who was held prisoner in the tower room of the house, and he had made up his mind to bring the lawyer to time by kidnapping his daughter. Just how he would get his hands on Nancy he did not know, but as he abruptly started off down the path, he was turning over a number of plans in his head.

“The time will soon be ripe,” he chuckled evilly.

Unaware that Nathan had been thinking of her and likewise without a suspicion that she stood within a stone’s throw of the room where her father was imprisoned, Nancy Drew considered what she had best do.

“There’s not much use to trail Nathan,” she decided. “After all, he may not visit the Turnbull house, and this will be my only opportunity to visit his house. It was pure luck he left just when he did.”

Hesitating no longer, she moved on through the rain. Once she glanced back over her shoulder, but Nathan Gombet had been swallowed up in the darkness.

Cautiously, Nancy approached the old stone house from the rear. The light was still shining from a window, and she saw now that it came from the kitchen. The shades were up, and as she drew closer she was able to peer in.

A fat colored woman was washing dishes at the sink, her back to the window.

“She must be the servant Rosemary and Floretta were telling me about,” Nancy guessed. “I never saw a more surly-looking creature. She looks positively vicious!”

Nancy Drew was disappointed, for with Nathan Gombet gone she had hoped to find the house deserted. The presence of the colored woman made her mission a very dangerous one.

“It’s now or never,” she thought nervously. “I must hurry or Nathan Gombet may return.”

Cautiously, she moved forward and surveyed the house at close range. With the exception of the kitchen, the shades were pulled down over all of the windows.

“I may be able to get in a cellar window,” Nancy reasoned.

With one eye on the kitchen door, she began an investigation. After trying several windows, she found one which had not been locked.

“Luck is with me,” she breathed. “Now, if I can get into the house without being detected!”

The window was a small one and swung back on a hinge. It made a loud grating sound as it opened, and Nancy felt certain the colored woman must have heard the noise. Frantically, she scrambled through the small opening and dropped to the cellar floor. Before she could prevent it, the window banged shut behind her.

“Now I have done it!” she thought, in a panic.

Her fears were confirmed. The kitchen door opened and there was a heavy tread on the back porch. The colored woman had heard the noise and was coming to find what had caused it.

Nancy Drew crouched in the dark cellar of the old stone house, scarcely daring to breathe lest her presence be discovered. She could hear the old colored servant coming down the path which led directly to the window through which she had just scrambled.

“She heard the noise all right, and she’s coming to investigate,” Nancy thought fearfully.

She dared not turn on her flashlight to search for a hiding place and she dared not remain where she was. If the colored woman looked in at the window, as she was almost certain to do, her presence would be detected.

Feeling her way in the dark, Nancy moved cautiously forward. She could not see a foot ahead of her, and the cellar was unpleasantly musty and damp.

Her hand touched something cold and slimy. She recoiled as though she had touched a snake, although in reality it was only an old piece of rubber hose.

She could hear the colored woman coming nearer and nearer. Unless she found a hiding place quickly, she would be caught.

Then her hand touched a doorknob. She turned it eagerly. The door opened readily, and Nancy found herself in a small storeroom.

There was no time to search for a better place, so she quickly drew the door to after her. Leaving a tiny crack through which she could peep, she waited anxiously.

Almost immediately, she heard a noise at the cellar window, and a light was flashed about. It rested for a moment upon the door of the storeroom and then moved to another corner.

“I suah thought I heard somethin’!” Nancy heard the old negress mutter. “An’ it was right down in this heah basement, too!”

She continued to flash the long beam of her flashlight here and there about the cellar, and though Nancy could see nothing at the window because of the glare, she imagined that back of the lens she saw two penetrating black eyes peering directly into her retreat.

“If she sees me!” Nancy thought, and the prospect of being captured like a thief in the house of Nathan Gombet caused her to crouch closely to the wall, praying that the colored woman would not discover her. “If she decides to come down into the cellar, I’m lost,” she told herself.

Apparently, the colored woman was satisfied that there was nothing wrong in the basement, for after peering in at the window, she moved away, muttering to herself.

“I done reckons my old ears is playin’ me false,” she mumbled. “I hears noises dat sounds like dey was in de basement and dey was only in my haid.”

A moment later Nancy heard the kitchen door slam shut. After waiting several minutes longer to make certain that the old colored woman had no intention of returning, she switched on her flashlight and curiously surveyed her surroundings.

The storeroom in which she found herself was like any other room of its kind, though it showed neglect. The place was filthy with dirt, and in one corner some half-rotten potatoes sent up an odor which was anything but pleasant.

After assuring herself that there was nothing of interest in the room, Nancy opened the door and quietly stepped out into the main part of the basement. It was a relief to get a whiff of comparatively fresh air.

Her purpose in entering the cellar was to discover whether or not there was a secret tunnel connecting the Turnbull mansion with Nathan Gombet’s house. Since she had learned that both residences had been built at approximately the same time, she had suspected that such a passageway might be in existence. She had been unable to find an entrance in the cellar of the Turnbull mansion, but she hoped to have better luck in the basement of Gombet’s house.

Flashing her light over the walls, she searched diligently for a secret opening or a trapdoor. Obviously, there was no tunnel which opened out of the basement. The walls appeared to be constructed of solid stone.

However, as she moved her light about, she saw a flight of stairs which led to the first floor of the house.

Nancy Drew had no intention of leaving the place until she had made a thorough investigation of the floors above, but the stairway she had located led directly into the kitchen. So long as the colored woman was working there, she would be held a prisoner in the cellar.

“I may have to wait here until she goes to bed,” she thought dismally.

A girl less patient would have given up the search, but Nancy was determined to see the affair through to the end. Unless she here and now unearthed an important clue which would definitely connect Nathan Gombet with the strange happenings and numerous thefts at the Turnbull mansion, she feared that the mystery would forever remain unsolved.

She had visited the home of Gombet as a last resort. She was firm in her intention not to return without the evidence which must be obtained before the old miser could be convicted.

The cellar was damp and Nancy’s slicker was but slight protection against the chill night air. Presently, she was shivering with cold.

“This will never do,” she chattered. “I can’t stay here all night.”

Discomfort made her bold. Impulsively, she crept up the stairway. A door blocked the entrance to the kitchen. Crouching down, she peered through the keyhole. The colored woman was still there. She stood with her back to the basement door, ironing.

It was slightly warmer on the landing and Nancy remained there, hoping that some errand would take the woman from the room. After what seemed an interminable wait, the negress put her ironing board away and, picking up the basket of clothes, went out of the kitchen.

Throwing caution to the winds, Nancy gently tried the door. It was not locked. Without making a sound, she opened it and stepped out into the light.

Now that she was actually in the kitchen she did not know which way to turn. As she hesitated, she heard the colored woman returning.

Frantically, Nancy glanced this way and that. There was not sufficient time to retreat to the cellar. The woman had nearly reached the kitchen.

“I’m trapped,” the girl thought desperately.

Then her eyes rested upon a closet door to her left, and with scarcely an instant’s consideration, she hastily sought the refuge it afforded.

Scarcely had she stepped into the closet and closed the door when the colored woman came back into the kitchen. Without so much as a glance in the direction of the closet, she picked up a pile of ironed linen and again left the room. Nancy could hear her moving about in another part of the house.

“Now is my chance!” she advised herself. “If I stay here I’ll be sure to be caught.”

Quickly, she stepped out of the closet. She listened for a second to make certain the woman was not returning, and then, without making a sound, darted into the next room.

There was no time to look about, for at any moment the colored woman might come back and find her there. She must reach the second floor. Where was the stairway?

Softly, she tiptoed across the floor and opened a door. Fortune favored her, for it was the right one. A narrow, winding stairway, not unlike the one in the Turnbull house, led to the landing above.

With her pistol ready for instant use, Nancy Drew crept noiselessly up the stairs. The boards creaked slightly but she did not pause until she had reached the landing. It was pitch dark and she dared not use her flashlight.

She heard a noise, and started.

“That sounded like someone coughing, but I guess it couldn’t have been,” she decided. “My nerves are all on edge to-night.”

Had she only known it, she stood within twenty feet of the room where her father was held a prisoner!

Nancy paused and listened, but the sound was not repeated.

She then crept silently along the corridor, unwittingly passing the prison chamber in the dark.

The floor boards creaked alarmingly, and at each step she feared someone would spring out and attempt to overpower her. She felt as though unseen eyes were watching her every movement.

“I must control my nerves,” she told herself firmly.

By a supreme effort of will she gained control over herself and moved forward again. Her hand struck a door knob. Cautiously, she opened the door, wondering what would be revealed. In the inky blackness she could see nothing, and with sudden daring, switched on her flashlight.

As a penetrating beam fell upon an object directly in front of her, she started back in sheer horror.

A big owl, with spread wings and wicked glassy eyes, was less than three feet from her!

Only by rigid mental discipline did Nancy suppress a cry of fright. Then, as she continued to stare at the huge bird, she relaxed slightly.

The owl was stuffed! For a moment she had forgotten that Rosemary and Floretta had told her that Nathan Gombet was something of a taxidermist.

With misgiving, she flashed her light about. What she saw did not tend to lessen her terror. She stood in a room of birds!

“What a strange hobby,” Nancy shuddered.

Never had she seen such a collection. The room was crowded with pedestals upon which sat stuffed birds. From one corner, an eagle looked down upon her, and from another, an ugly vulture. There were several crows and odd specimens Nancy did not recognize.

It was a gruesome sight. She stared at the figures in fascination and horror, for in the semi-darkness a score of glassy eyes seemed focused upon her.

Nancy’s first impulse was to back hastily from the room, but almost immediately she gained control of herself. She would not leave until she had discovered every secret of the old house!

As she moved her light about, she saw that there were live birds in the room also. Golden canaries in gilded cages! They seemed strangely out of keeping with the ugly stuffed specimens about the walls and upon the pedestals. There were dozens of the little yellow birds, and as a beam from the flashlight struck the cages, they aroused sleepily on their perches and began to chirp and twitter.

“Canaries!” Nancy whispered, impressed at the sight. “Now I am sure it was Nathan Gombet who entered the Turnbull mansion. The two canaries which we found in Floretta’s room must have come from here! But how did they get there? That is what I must find out before I leave here to-night!”

She turned toward the door and as she moved forward a ray from the flashlight fell upon a large cage which had escaped her notice. Now for the first time she saw a brilliantly colored parrot.

The bird began to stir restlessly. Sensing that she was about to bring disaster upon herself, Nancy switched the light to another portion of the room. Too late! The parrot let out a loud squawk.

“Go ’way!” it screamed. “Go ’way! Polly wants a cracker!”

Thoroughly alarmed, Nancy darted toward the door. As she opened the door, she heard a heavy step on the stairs. The colored woman was coming to find out what the matter was! Escape was cut off.

“I could choke that parrot!” Nancy told herself almost fiercely. “Now I am in a mess!”