Strawberry Acres | Page 8

seed catalogues and empty hair-oil bottles," said Alec.
"A skeleton in armour!" cried Bob.
"All your Aunt Alicia's ball-dresses and your Uncle Maxwell's wedding
clothes," guessed Josephine.
"A mahogany sideboard, dining-table and chairs," murmured Sally, at
which there was a general shout.
"Dead beetles, fallen plaster, and a musty copy of 'Plutarch's Lives,'"
was Max's cynical contribution.
"Open the door!" cried Bob.
But Jarvis still held it. "I think I'll let in one at a time," he declared.
"Who'll venture first?"
Sally walked up the steps.
"Oh, don't send her in all alone!" begged Josephine. "Think, what if

there should be--"
"The skeleton in armour," urged Bob.
"Go on, Sally, you're game," and Max grinned at Josephine and Bob.
"It doesn't take much to rouse some people's imaginations. Go ahead,
and confront the seed catalogues and the beetles with a bold front."
Jarvis, smiling at Sally and taking note of her pink cheeks, detained her
with an injunction. "Whatever you find," he stipulated, "make no
outcry. Retain your composure. Remember your friends are close at
hand. Three raps on the inside of this door will summon four stout
retainers to your side. Are you ready?"
"Ready."
"Remember that defunct beetles are harmless, old clothes retain no
characteristics of their former owners, no matter how blood-thirsty, and
empty bottles probably never contained fatal potions. If the place is
dark, press your finger on this"--he thrust a small electric search-light
into her hand--"and the mystery will be illumined. Brave lady, enter!"
He opened the door just wide enough to admit the slim figure in black,
which slipped through and promptly closed the door upon itself.
Josephine interfered.
"Jarvis, don't let her shut that door! Something might happen! There
might be a--hole in the floor."
"She has blue eyes and you black!" retorted Jarvis. "She has golden
locks, you raven. Don't let the outward attributes belie themselves like
that."
"Sh!--Sh-h!" Josephine held up a beseeching finger.
Everybody listened. A silence ensued, unbroken by raps or sounds of
any sort. When this had continued for some five minutes, Josephine
spoke urgently: "Jarvis Burnside, open that door! It's all right to joke,

but things do happen, and it's not right to fool this way!"
"What's the matter with you, Jo Burnside?" demanded Max, while
Jarvis, looking quizzical, still held the door. "Don't you know Sally
well enough to know she's not afraid of her shadow? She's playing the
game through. She'll come back in her own good time, when she's
thoroughly explored whatever's behind that door. A mouse won't give
her hysterics, or a flapping window-shade make her scream."
Josephine held her peace, but she looked at Bob. Bob was genuinely
uneasy, though determined not to show it. There is undeniably a
peculiar atmosphere about old and unused houses, and queer fancies are
prone to take possession of those who explore them. It was ten years
since this house had been lived in. There was something odd about its
having been so completely deserted, with not even a tenant left to
occupy its kitchen regions and look after it. And the lock on this door
had been strangely resistant.
Josephine suddenly opened her lips to say: "I shall not stand here
waiting another minute!" when three raps on the door brought back her
composure.
Jarvis, himself looking a trifle relieved, promptly turned the knob. But
he could not open the door.
"It must be a spring-lock," he grunted disgustedly. "Idiot that I was! All
right, Sally!" he called. "Got to work the tools over again."
"Sally, O Sally, are you all right?" called Josephine.
There was no reply. Jarvis worked rapidly, repeating his former
processes with an impatient hand. When the lock yielded once more, he
threw the door open, and the others crowded up the steps.
"A staircase!" was the common ejaculation.
Bob pushed by the rest and ran up it, closely followed by all except
Jarvis. "I'll stay on the outside of this fool lock!" he called. But a

moment later, investigating, he found that it could be rendered
inoperative by a catch on the inside, which, being set, allowed the door
to open and close freely. So, after the others, he hurried up the stairs.
These ascended straight between the walls until a sharp curve at the top
brought them to a door now wide open. Within the room beyond stood
the party, exclaiming at the tops of their voices.
They might well exclaim. Of all the guesses, none had come within
distant range of the real thing.
The room was that of a collector of old books, and it had been closed
and left precisely as its former owner had arranged it, so far as could be
judged by its present appearance. A faded Turkey carpet covered the
floor; sun-rotted and dusty draperies hung