me,” sighed Braye. “It looks now as if there must be some one who gets in from outside the house, and who is responsible for all the inexplicable happenings. Of course, that would point to Stebbins, we must all admit that.”
The servants had left the hall, so Braye permitted himself this freedom of speech.
“I don’t say it’s Stebbins,” the Professor mused, “but I do think it’s some one from outside. There may be a village inhabitant who is possessed of a homicidal mania, that’s the theory that seems to me the only one possible. And we must assume, now, that there is a secret way to get in and out of the house.”
“If so, that clever detective ought to find it,” argued Braye.
“Perhaps he will,” said Hardwick, “also, perhaps he has. He doesn’t tell all he knows. Now, this is certain. All here present are, I am thankful to say, free from any breath of suspicion. For last night, you, Braye, and the detective and I all slept with our doors open, and none of us could have left our rooms without being observed by the others. The same is true of the ladies, and of course, Mrs. Landon can vouch for her husband.”
“Don’t talk that way,” said Norma, with a shudder. “You know none of us could be suspected.”
“Not by ourselves,” agreed the Professor; “nor by each other, of course. But by an outsider, or by the servants, or by the detectives,—it is indeed a good thing to have matters arranged as they are. I feel a decided satisfaction in knowing that no unjust suspicion can attach itself to any one of our party.”
“That’s so,” and Braye nodded. “But it doesn’t get us any nearer to the real criminal. I incline to the Professor’s idea of a man of homicidal mania, in the village. They say, that’s a real disease, and that such people are diabolically clever and cunning in carrying out their criminal impulses.”
“But how could such a man get in?” asked Eve, her eyes wide with wonder.
“We don’t know,” said Braye, “but there must be a secret entrance. Why, Stebbins as good as admitted there was, but he wouldn’t tell where it was. However, it’s unimportant, how he got in, if he did get in.”
“Do you mean that some such person acted the ghost,—and—all that?” said Norma, dubiously. “But, if so, how could he kill Mr. Bruce and Vernie? Oh, it’s too ridiculous! Those two deaths were not occasioned by any crazy man from East Dryden! It’s impossible.”
“Come out for a little stroll, Norma,” said Braye to her, seeing how nervously excited the girl was. “A breath of fresh air will do you good, and we can do nothing here.”
They went out into the pleasant August sunshine, and strolled toward the lake.
“Not that way,” begged Norma. “It’s too horrible. Oh, Rudolph, who do you suppose tried to drown that poor little Zizi?”
“Nobody, Norma. She made up that yarn.”
“Oh, no, Rudolph, I don’t think so!”
“Yes, she did. That Wise is trying to get at his discoveries in the theatrical fashion all detectives love to use, and that movie actress is part of his stock in trade. She fell in the lake, all right, I daresay, but the tale about the bogey man is fictitious, be sure of that.”
“But how did she get out of the house, and leave all the doors locked behind her?”
“Perhaps, as the Professor suggested, Wise knows of the secret entrance, if there is one, and of course, Zizi does too. Or, that little monkey could have scrambled down from the second-story window, she’s as agile as a cat! Anyway, Norma, she wasn’t pitched in the lake by the same villain that did for Uncle Gif and Vernie.”
“Who could that have been?”
“Who, indeed?”
“Rudolph, tell me one thing,—please be frank; do you think any one we know—is,—is responsible for those deaths?”
Braye turned a pained look at her. “Don’t ask such questions, dear,” he said. “I can’t answer you,—I don’t want to answer.”
“I am answered,” said Norma, sadly. “I know you share the—the fear, I won’t call it a suspicion,—that Eve and I do. And—Rudolph, Milly fears it, too. She won’t say so, of course, but I know by the way she looks at Wynne, when she thinks no one notices. And she’s so afraid Mr. Wise will look in that direction. Oh, Rudolph, must we let that detective go on,—no matter what he—exposes?”
“Landon got him up here,” said Braye, “no, the Professor really heard of him first, but Landon urged his coming.”
“Milly didn’t. Could Wynne have been prompted by—by bravado?”
“I don’t know, dear. Please don’t talk of it, Norma. It seems——”
“I know, it seems disloyal to Wynne for us even to hint at such a thing. But if we could help him——”
“How?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I suppose we oughtn’t to condone,—and, too, Rudolph, if this should remain undiscovered, should be all hushed up, you know, and if nobody should really accuse—you know who—wouldn’t your life be in danger?”
“Hush, Norma, I won’t listen to such talk! Has Eve put you up to all this?”
“She and I have talked it over, yes. She is so anxious for you.”
“For me?”
“Yes; you know Eve—cares a great deal for you.”
“Hush, dear, you’re not yourself to-day. And I don’t wonder. The awful times we’re going through are enough to upset your nerves. But never speak of Eve Carnforth and me in that tone! You know, Norma, I love you and you only. I want you for my own, my darling, and when we get away from these awful scenes, I shall woo and win you!”
Chapter XVII.
Stebbins Owns Up
“Now, Mr. Stebbins, you’d better speak out in meetin’ and tell all you know. Tell your Auntie Zizi jes’ how naughty you was, and how you managed it. C’mon, now,—’pit it all out!”
Zizi sat on the edge of a chair in Elijah Stebbins’ office, and leaned toward him, her eerie little face enticingly near his, and her smile such as would charm the birds off the trees.
Stebbins looked at her, and shifted uneasily in his chair.
“I didn’t do nothin’ wrong,” he began, “I played a silly trick or two, but it was only in fun. When I see they took it seriously, I quit.”
“Yes, I know all that,” and the impatient visitor shook a prompting little forefinger at him. “I know everything you said and did to scare those people into fits, and when they wouldn’t scare, but just lapped up your spook rackets, you quit, as you say, and then,—they took up the business themselves.”
“You sure of that?”
“I am,—certain. Also, I know who did it. What I’m after is to find out a few missing ways and means. Now, you were a tricksy Puck, weren’t you, when you moved the old battered candlestick that first night? And it did no harm, that I admit. It roused their curiosity, and started the spook ball rolling. Then, as a ghost, you appeared to Mr. Bruce, didn’t you?”
“Well, I—did,” Stebbins grudgingly confessed, forced by the compelling black eyes, “I just wrop a shawl over my head, and spooked in. But nobody believed his yarn about it.”
“No; they thought Mr. Bruce made up the story, because he had said he would trick them if he