Jane Carter Investigates: Episode Twenty-Six
When I asked Emma if Mr. Conrad had notified the police, she said,
“I should say not! He said it would ruin him if the news was spread over the
town. During the night, he drove Mr. Harwood’s car away somewhere, and he
disposed of every item Mr. Harwood left behind in the room.”
“He could get into serious trouble for doing that,” I said.
“Mr. and Mrs. Conrad both warned me that I must never breathe a
word of what happened last night. They have watched me almost every minute
since.”
“How did you get away just now?” Flo asked.
“Mr. Conrad went away somewhere, and Mrs. Conrad lay down for a
moment and fell asleep.”
“She and her husband must be completely crazy to think they can
hide anything like that from the police,” I said. “It looks as if what Thom
Vhorst told us wasn’t idle gossip. This makes two people who have disappeared
from room seven.”
“Mrs. Conrad made me clean up the room this morning. While I was
dusting and running the sweeper, I was so frightened my knees actually knocked
together.”
“Do you really believe that the eyes of the portraits move?” I
asked. I was still disinclined to believe Emma’s story, but perhaps I shouldn’t
have been so quick to dismiss it as hysteria.
“Perhaps they don’t really move,” Emma acknowledged. “But they
seemed alive. While I was cleaning the room, I felt as if four pairs of human
eyes were focused on me.”
“Nerves, probably,” Flo said.
“I’ll be a wreck if I remain in that house very much longer,” Emma
said. “Such sinister goings-on in there.”
“It’s fairly easy to understand why Merriweather might have
disappeared mysteriously,” I said. “He was carrying valuable jewels.”
“You think the Conrads may have robbed him?” Florence asked.
“No, I’m not venturing an opinion. But it does strike me that Mr.
Harwood must have met foul play because he learned something which pointed the
finger at the scoundrel responsible for Mr. Merriweather’s disappearance.”
“Perhaps no person had anything to do with it,” suggested Emma. “I
don’t believe in ghosts, but it seems to me we’ve run into something which
can’t be explained. There’s an atmosphere about that house, especially room
seven, which defies explanation. If you were to stay there a day or so—”
“I’d like to have a chance to do it,” I said. “But Mrs. Conrad
won’t even allow me to get near the front door.”
“One thing is clear,” said Florence. “After what has happened,
Emma can’t stay alone in that house another night.”
“I’m ready to go back to Greenville with you,” Emma said. “I’d
prefer to starve than go on like this.”
“Of course, we’ll be glad to take you with us,” I said, “only I
have an idea—”
“Don’t listen to it, Emma,” warned Florence. “Her ideas nearly
always mean trouble for someone.”
“This one might prove dangerous,” I admitted. “I haven’t any right
to ask it of you, Emma.”
“What is it you want me to do?”
“When it becomes known that two persons have disappeared at Old
Mansion, it will mean a big story,” I said. “Every paper in this part of the
country will send reporters here, trying to get the inside facts. Now here is
my idea: I thought if you could bear to stay on for a day or two, Dad would
have an inside track on just what is happening. He’d pay you well for your
work.”
“I wouldn’t stay in that house another night for a million
dollars,” said Emma.
“I understand,” I said. “It wasn’t right of me to ask you to do
it.”
“I wouldn’t do it for a million dollars,” said Emma. “But I’ll do
it for you, Jane, and for poor Mr. Harwood. The next few days are our best hope
of getting to the bottom of what really happened.”
I had underestimated Emma. I smiled at her.
“If our plan is to succeed,” she said. “I must get back to the
kitchen before Mrs. Conrad learns that I have left the house.”
We left Emma behind to be our eyes and ears at Old Mansion and
started out for Greenville.
We had traveled seven miles or so when we came to a tributary of
the Grassy River. As we crossed the bridge, Florence cried out. I slammed on
the brakes.
“What is it, Flo?”
“See that houseboat half hidden by the willows?”
I brought the car to a standstill on the bridge.
“No, I don’t see anything.”
“Far down the river, Jane. Almost at the bend.”
“Oh, yes, now I do. There are dozens of houseboats in this river
district. But it does have a green stack!”
“That’s what I noticed. Could it be Mud Cat’s missing houseboat?”
I pulled off at the side, and we waded through the dense bushes
growing along the river bank. It was slow going. Burs and nettles clung to our
stockings and skirts.
“There goes yet another pair of shoes,” I said. “When I stepped
off that log—"
“Listen!” Flo commanded, halting.
It was a gasoline engine.
We scrambled through the bushes and briers, reaching the river
just in time to see the houseboat vanishing far downstream. Already it had
traveled such a distance that we couldn’t get a good look at it.
“That may have been Mud Cat’s stolen boat!” I said.
“It certainly has a powerful engine. I never saw a houseboat slip
along so fast.”
We watched until it vanished beyond another bend. There was no
hope of further pursuit. There was no automobile road along the river at this
point.
“I’ll send word to Mud Cat Joe just as soon as I can,” I said. “It
would delay us too long to return to his place now.”
“Yes, the houseboat may not belong to Mud Cat anyway. Even a green
smokestack isn’t exactly conclusive evidence.”
I wanted to tell my father about Mr. Harwood’s disappearance as
soon as possible, so I took Florence home and then went directly to the
newspaper office.
“Dad,” I said, “you have a new reporter on your staff.”
“Meaning yourself?” Dad asked, brightening. Hope springs eternal,
I guess.
“No, Emma Brown.”
Dad grimaced, but before he could protest, I told him about Mr.
Harwood’s disappearance.
“That’s a rather fantastical story, Jane!”
“It is, but I’m certain it’s true. Did I do wrong in asking Emma
to remain at the Conrad house?”
“That was a stroke of genius, Jane. It gives us an inside track on
the story. And it will be a tremendous one!”
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