Jane Carter Investigates: Episode Thirteen
“I can’t imagine who would lay out a street in such fashion,” Florence
said. “All these buildings are dangerously near the water.”
“I imagine they were built farther back. Probably the river has
cut into the bank as the years went by. Didn’t your father mention something
about that, when we told him we were visiting White Falls?”
“One of these days I imagine everything will topple into the
water.”
“It wouldn’t be a very great loss,” I said. “As far as I’m
concerned, Mr. Glen Conrad and wife can be perched on the roof when Old Mansion
swims off!”
“They are an unpleasant pair. Did you hear what they were saying,
Jane, when we came into the parlor?”
“Yes, it puzzled me. Why should Mr. Conrad consider it dangerous
for Emma to remain here? And he acted so oddly about that room. I was tempted
to insist upon sleeping there, despite Mrs. Conrad’s protests.”
“I’m glad you didn’t, Jane. I haven’t any overpowering desire to
spend a night with portraits which roll their eyes and cut capers.”
“Oh, that part must be nonsense, Flo.”
“Yes, Emma was excited,” Florence agreed. “So many things happened
to her today she didn’t know what she was doing.”
“Still, it’s very strange Mrs. Conrad was so set against us having
that room. She seems afraid of something.”
“She said it hadn’t been dusted, only Emma had just finished it.”
“That was definitely just an excuse. Mr. Conrad seemed to
understand what his wife meant because he let the matter drop. Another odd
thing, you remember the café owner dropped a hint about Old Mansion. He said to
take his advice and not spend a night here.”
“And we’re planning to do just the opposite! I had forgotten all
about it.”
“That was one reason why I especially wished to stay,” I said.
“Well, shall we have our supper and telephone home? Perhaps while we’re in the
café, I can induce Thom Vhorst to elaborate upon his original warning.”
The café was entirely deserted when we entered. We asked to use
the telephone and placed reverse charge calls to our homes in Greenville. We
both omitted any mention of paintings whose eyes moved or the general weirdness
of the proprietors of the hotel.
Thom Vhorst, the owner of the café, brought our meal to the table.
“You decided to stay after all?” he said, as he deposited a plate
of gravy-soaked biscuits.
“Yes, it would take us a long while to drive back to Greenville
tonight,” I said. “Don’t you think we’ll like the place?”
“You wouldn’t catch me staying there,” he said. “Not on your
life!”
“Why?”
“Something might happen. What room are you staying in?”
“I’m not certain,” I said. I tried to remember what number was on
the door of Emma’s room. I couldn’t recall there being any number at all.
Perhaps only the guest rooms were numbered.
“Is it on the south side of the building?” Mr. Vhorst asked.
“No, on the street side,” said Flo.
“Then that’s not so bad,” he said. “You had me good and scared for
a minute.”
“Just what is wrong with the place?” demanded Florence. “Is it
supposed to be haunted or something?”
“Nothing like that.” The man lowered his voice, though we were
still the only ones in the place. “I shouldn’t be telling you all this.”
“If you feel we might be in any danger, it is your duty to tell
us,” I said. “Has all this mystery anything to do with room seven?”
“That’s it,” he said. “I’ll tell you—”
His voice trailed off, and he picked up my plate, which still had two and a half biscuits on it. I looked toward the entrance. Glen Conrad had entered the café and was staring at us.
Comments
Post a Comment