The Secret of the Mansion Read online

  "You loved your father an awful lot, didn't you?" Honey asked shyly. "You must miss him like anything."

  Jim nodded soberly. "Guess that's why I hated jonesy from the very beginning. I didn't think anyone could take Dad's place. I knew Mother needed someone to take care of her, but I wanted to do it. I was too young, of course." He cantered along the moonlit path in a thoughtful silence. "Sometimes I think if I'd behaved better at first, jonesy might have been kinder to me. It's too late now, though. He hates me as much as I hate him. Once I looked up suddenly from my homework and caught him staring at me. There was such a mean look in his eyes that I was honestly scared to death for a minute."

  Trixie swallowed hard, thinking of her own father who was always so cheerful and kind to everyone. I never really appreciated him before, she thought. I'm always nagging at him to buy me this and buy me that when I know he can't afford it with four children to take care of She made a quick little resolution to reform and immediately felt much better.

  After a while they reined in their horses beside a stream that was hardly more than a trickle. "Golly," Trixie said, "our brook's beginning to look like this. If it doesn't rain soon, all the wells will go dry."

  Jim nodded. "That's one of the reasons why I had such a hard time keeping clean at Uncle James's. The well there is just about dry." He crumpled a leaf to a dry powder between his fingers. "It's much drier up here than it is across the road where we went riding yesterday. If a blaze started around here we'd have a regular forest fire."

  The horses drank thirstily between the rocks in the shallow stream, and then Honey said, "We really ought to start back now. Regan said not to be gone more than an hour."

  Forty minutes later, they had returned the horses and were about to start down the short cut to the hollow when Jim suddenly grabbed the girls' arms and pulled them off the path into the bushes. "There's someone up at the Mansion," he whispered, "and I think there's a car parked down at the foot of the driveway."

  Trixie sucked in her breath. In the bright moonlight, she could distinctly see the head and shoulders of a man rising above the thicket. He was moving slowly and stealthily across the clearing, like a cat stalking its prey, and she felt a little shiver run up and down her spine.

  "I'm sure glad we talked you into staying down at our place, Jim," she whispered. "That man's no reporter. You can almost feel how evil he is from here."

  Trixie heard Honey gasp and felt the pressure of her arm. "Let's go tell Regan," Honey begged. "We ought to stay at our house tonight, Trixie. I wouldn't dare go down into the hollow with that man's car parked so near your driveway."

  "Honey's right," Jim interrupted. "You girls go back to the Manor House. I'm going to creep through the woods and see who that man is. If it's who I think it is-"

  "Jonesy!" Trixie broke in excitedly. "You think it's Jonesy, don't you, Jim?"

  He was standing in the long black shadow of an evergreen, but Trixie could see him nod his head. "He may have seen the New York papers this afternoon and driven right down the river after me. But I can't be sure until I get closer." He started off on the path that led through the woods to the Mansion, walking carefully and silently over the pine needles.

  "Wait for me," Trixie cried impulsively. "If he should try to hurt you, I could hit him over the head with something. Don't go without me, Jim!"

  "Okay." Reluctantly, Jim waited for her to catch up. "But don't step on a twig or make any noise that would warn him. I just want to see what he's up to."

  "I'm coming, too," Honey said suddenly. "If things get bad, I can at least scream loud enough for Regan to hear us."

  It took them much longer to walk along the trail than it had when they rode on horseback, and Trixie thought they would never reach the thicket around the clearing. Neither she nor Honey was as used to stalking in the woods as Jim was, and every time their feet disturbed a branch or a pebble, Trixie's heart momentarily stopped beating. Suppose jonesy heard them and was waiting for them on the other side of the hedge? Suppose he had that big black whip in his hand that Jim often dreamed about? Maybe this was what Honey's nightmare and premonitions were all about.

  At last, Jim pushed ahead of them through the thick vines and underbrush, and they crouched behind him, hardly daring to breathe. There was no sign of anyone in the clearing, and then they heard the faint crunch of gravel, and Trixie saw a thin, stoop-shouldered man coming around from the other side of the house.

  "It's Jonesy, all right," Jim said, his mouth close to Trixie's ear.

  The man peered through one of the front windows, and, as he turned away in the bright moonlight, Trixie thought she had never seen such a mean-looking face before. His thin lips were drawn back over yellow, protruding teeth; his eyes glittered cruelly. Long, muscular arms swung ape-like from his broad, bent shoulders; and she shuddered as she watched his thick, twisted fingers light the cigarette which dangled from one corner of his ugly mouth.

  He moved stealthily along, keeping close to the shadows of the house, and stopped suddenly beside the open living-room window. Trixie was sure she was going to hiccup or cough ()r sneeze as Jonesy hesitated for a moment, looking over one shoulder right at the spot where they were hiding. Then, with one more backward look, he silently swung over the window sill.

  She could feel her breath hissing through her teeth as she crouched there, watching the glow of the cigarette as the man moved from room to room.

  "My mug," Jim whispered desperately. "It's sitting right there on the mantel, and the Bible with the will inside is just beside it! Those catlike eyes of his will see them in the dark. He'll see everything!"

  Oh, gosh, Trixie thought remorsefully. "y did we forget to bring them down this afternoon? She uttered a prayer of thanks that she had had the presence of mind to slam the big oil painting in the dining-room against the wall.

  "Sh-h," Honey cautioned. "He's put out his cigarette. Now we won't know where he is."

  In a minute or two, the broad, stooped shoulders of the man were silhouetted against the open window. He glanced cautiously around the clearing, they climbed out and thoughtfully stared up at the top floors as though debating whether or not he should search them before departing. Finally, after lighting another cigarette and with several backward glances at the old Mansion, he disappeared down the rutted driveway.

  They waited breathlessly until they heard the motor of the car on the road below turn Over, and then they stood up, stretching to watch it drive away toward the village.

  "That settles it," Jim said as they moved into the clearing. "I'm going to stay up here tonight and keep an eye on this place."

  "But, Jim," Honey objected, "suppose he comes back and catches You while you're asleep?"

  "He won't," Jim assured her. "I'll sleep in the summerhouse. If I sleep." He vaulted in through the window and came back quickly with the mug and the Bible. "At least, he didn't take these with him. But he knows now that I've been living here." He lifted the overhanging vine which hid the entrance to the old arbor and began to crawl along to the summerhouse. "Good night, girls," he said. "You'll be perfectly safe down at Trixie's. He doesn't want to see you any more than you want to see him. Don't worry."

  Reluctantly, Trixie and Honey started down the hill to the hollow. "He's crazy to try to sleep in that stuffy little house," Trixie complained. "But there's no sense in arguing with Jim. He's redheaded and stubborn."

  The moonlight threw long black shadows across the path, and Honey edged closer to Trixie. "Do you think that awful man will come back?" she asked, tucking her arm through Trixie's as they came out of the woods behind the garage.

  I don't think so," Trixie told her. 'At least, not tonight. Anyway, he won't bother us, as Jim said. He has no way of knowing that we're all alone in the house."

  The End of the Mansion

  Honey shivered as they hurried across the moonlit lawn to the terrace. "I won't be able to sleep a wink. I'll dream all night of jonesy's horrid face peering at me through that bro
ken upstairs window. He looked so mean."

  Trixie wasn't at all sure that she herself wouldn't have similar nightmares, but she forced herself to laugh as she unlocked the kitchen door and whistled to quiet Reddy's frantic barking. She let Reddy out for one last run, and then, at Honey's insistence, they locked all the downstairs doors and windows. By that time, they were so exhausted they fell into bed without bothering to brush their teeth.

  In spite of her worries, Honey dropped off to sleep almost immediately, but Trixie couldn't close her eyes. Her whole body ached, but her imagination kept her thoughts whirling round and round, reenacting all the exciting events of the past week. She tossed and turned, trying to keep her face out of the bright path of moonlight which streamed in through the window, and finally she sat bolt upright in bed.

  "It's no use," she told herself. "I just can't sleep. I'm too worried about Jim. He's not going to stay in the summerhouse. He's going to run away again tonight. I know he is. I could tell by the way he talked."

  She slipped out of bed and tiptoed to the window to stare wide-eyed up at the old Mansion, sharply silhouetted against the starlit sky. "He won't dare stay there another minute now that Jonesy knows where he's been hiding." Hot tears welled up in her blue eyes. "We'll never see him again. If only that mean stepfather could have stayed away."

  She rubbed away the tears which had momentarily blurred her vision. "Gosh," she whispered to herself. "I'm like Honey, seeing things. I could have sworn I saw a ghost floating out of that open living-room window."

  She rubbed her eyes again. Something white and feathery was seeping up around the roof of the Mansion. As she watched, it disappeared into space, but then, as a puff of wind blew up from the hollow, she could see another pale, ghostlike form take shape on one side of the house.

  It looks like ghosts, she thought with a nervous giggle. I guess the moonlight's playing tricks on me, and I must be sleepier than I thought I was. She turned to go back to bed when, with a start of horror, she remembered the glow of Jonesy's cigarette as he moved from room to room. "It's not a ghost," she cried out loud, wheeling back to the window. "It's smoke. Honey! Honey, " she shouted, sticking her bare feet into her loafers. "The Mansion's on fire!"

  Honey opened her eyes sleepily and nestled firmly under the covers. Trixie reached across the bed and shook her shoulder. "Wake up," she yelled. "There's a fire up at the Mansion. It'll burn like anything with that junk in it. It might spread to the summerhouse before Jim could get out."

  Honey scrambled out of bed, her hazel eyes wide with fright. Trixie pushed her toward the stairway. "Call the fire department right away while I go warn Jim. Hurry!" Trixie was unlocking the door to the terrace as she called this over her shoulder, almost stumbling over Reddy. As the door slammed behind her, she heard Honey at the phone, sobbing, "Operator! Operator! Fire! Fire! It's the big house at Ten Acres!"

  Trixie raced up the driveway to the path, with Reddy at her heels. As she ran along, tripping and stumbling in her haste, she could plainly see gray-white puffs of smoke curling out of the open window.

  'Jim," she screamed as she burst into the clearing. "Jim!"

  And then she saw him, crawling sleepy-eyed, but alert, from the arbor. "The Mansion's on fire!" she got out. "Your stepfather's cigarette! All that trash! Jim!"

  Instantly, he was wide-awake and through the window before Trixie could catch her breath. Then he reappeared again, almost knocking her down as she dragged herself over the sill. "It's that pile of old newspapers," he called out as he hurtled past her. "Stay where you are. I'll keep bringing cans of water. You throw them onto the fire."

  Trixie choked in the smoke-filled room, and through her streaming eyes she could see that one pile of paper had burned to ashes and that the stack of magazines next to it was beginning to smolder. She threw can after can of water on it and only vaguely knew that Honey was now helping Jim, running back and forth from the almost dry well. The magazines, which were now a tower of flames, suddenly toppled forward and fell, showering sparks and bits of burning paper all over the room. One corner of the old mattress caught fire; and, coughing and choking, Trixie dragged it across the floor. Somehow, she managed to pull it out of the window and stamped out all the smoldering embers with her feet.

  Through her streaming eyes, she saw Jim racing to the window with the watering can. He stopped suddenly and threw can and all through the window. "It's no use," he said, wiping his sweaty face with his arm. "The whole room is in flames. We can't stop it, now."

  And then they heard the wail of sirens from the road below, mingling with the roar of the fire engines. There was such utter confusion for the next hour that Trixie could never get the sequence of events straight. She would always remember the look of sheer desperation on Jim's face as he shot past her into the old arbor and how Honey had kept on bringing cans of water from the well long after the clearing was filled with firemen. She tried to warn Jim not to hide in the summerhouse, in case the fire should spread in that direction, which seemed likely, but nothing except a hoarse croak came out of her smoke-tortured throat.

  And all the while, in the back of her mind, she knew that the chemical truck was roaring up the rutted driveway. There was an awful moment of silence as the siren stopped screaming, and the motor of the truck stalled halfway up the hill.

  And then there were firemen everywhere, working calmly under the direction of their chief. Trixie heard an order which had something to do with ventilation, and two firemen promptly raced up a ladder and began chopping holes in the roof. In a minute, they clambered down and reported that they could "feel the roof breath-ing from the pressure of the hot air under it."

  She remembered the walled-up staircase then, and how all the other windows and doors were tightly closed. Even in her dazed state of mind, Trixie knew that the men were doing the best they could, but she realized the hopelessness of it all.

  "They'll never save the house," she shouted at Honey through the uproar of the stifling flames. "But they've got to keep it from spreading to the woods. Your place and ours will go, then. There hasn't been enough rain lately."

  Honey clutched her arm. "Oh, look. Isn't that jonesy coming up the hill with all those people from the village who were here when the military plane crashed?"

  Trixie wheeled around to face the driveway. Sure enough, leading the crowd of curious onlookers was the stoop-shouldered man. He stamped across the clearing, yelling at the top of his lungs to the fire chief, "My stepson's in there. Save him! Save him! He's the missing heir to the Frayne fortune. You must save him!"

  I think you're mistaken," Trixie heard the chief say quietly. "Mr. Frayne lived all alone, and he died recently. I assure you, my men have already made certain there is nobody in the house."

  "Fool, fool," jonesy howled, and Trixie knew that he was in one of the insane rages Jim had described. "I was here earlier this evening and saw unmistakable signs that young Jim Frayne has been living here. He's being burned alive, I tell you. Put out the fire! Put out the fire!"

  Ma be he does really care about Jim, Trixie thought as she started forward to tell the fire chief that Jim was safe, so that he would not send any of his men into the flaming house. At that moment the roof burst into flames, and the whole house collapsed in a blazing shower of sparks and burning chunks of wood.

  Instantly, Jonesy's attitude changed. He danced up and down in fury, shaking his fists and screaming like a maniac. "You idiots! You lazy idiots! Half a million dollars was hidden in that house, and you've let it burn to the ground. A fortune wasted, you fools. Do you hear me? A fortune!"

  It's the money he was worried about, not Jim, Trixie thought angrily. I'm glad he thinks Jim was burned alive. Now he won't be likely to bother him any more.

  The firemen, paying no attention to Jonesy's hysterical accusations, kept right on working to keep the fire from spreading to the woods. When the last ember was extinguished, even jonesy was forced to face the fact that there was nothing left worth salvaging.
Whatever had been hidden in the Mansion had been completely destroyed by the all-consuming flames. Screaming insults, the stoop-shouldered man turned away from the ruins and tottered down the driveway. "Who was that?" a reporter asked the fire chief. "Sounded like a lunatic to me."

  The chief laughed grimly. "They ought to keep people like that under lock and key. First he was yowling that his stepson was being burned alive and then he changed his tune. Said there was half a million dollars hidden in the place." He shrugged tiredly. "Never did believe that yarn about old man Frayne having, a fortune hidden in this old house, did you?"

  "Well, I don't know about that," the reporter said warily. "It has happened before, you know. Rich old recluses living in poverty. What was that about a stepson?"

  "You know as much about it as I do," the chief said, in exasperation. "Your hysterical friend said young Jim Frayne, the missing heir, was being burned alive. That's all I know, and what's more, I don't believe a word of it." But the reporter was already hurrying down the hill after jonesy and the villagers.

  "Golly," Trixie gasped. "It'll be in all the papers tomorrow that Jim died in the fire. I hope that means jonesy won't bother him any more. He's taken enough beatings."

  She stopped short as she felt a strong hand on her shoulder and wheeled around, expecting to face Jim's stepfather.

  It was Regan. "Don't you think you two have had enough excitement?" he demanded, grinning. "If Miss Trask ever finds out you were hanging around this place at this time of night-" He let out a long whistle. "I'm taking you girls home now," he finished firmly. "And see that you stay there the rest of the morning."

  Meekly, the girls let him escort them to the Belden terrace where Reddy, who had scampered away when the roof of the burning house crashed to the ground, was impatiently waiting for them. The dog gave them a noisy welcome.

  "What happened to that redheaded kid?" Regan asked as Trixie opened the door.