CHAPTER XX

THE WAY THE SCHEME WORKED OUT

The next morning witnessed the departure of Celia, bag and baggage. Aside from that one item of interest, nothing occurred that day to disturb the peace of the household of Las Golondrinas. With Emily now installed as cook and a very good cook, at that, the loss of Celia’s services was not so vital, particularly as Emily’s sister, Jennie, had promised her services the following week.

What signally worried and annoyed Miss Martha, however, was Mr. Carroll’s regretful announcement at dinner that evening to the effect that he would not be able to obtain the services of a guard for at least three days. An unusually large number of private details had rendered headquarters short of men used for such duty, he explained.

“I’m sorry, Martha, but it can’t be helped,” he consoled. “I’d turn the job over to one of my black boys, but it wouldn’t be advisable. If one of them has really been playing ghost, depend upon it, the others know it. Result, the ghost wouldn’t appear. He’d be warned to lie low. I’ll stay up myself to-night and watch, if you feel in the least afraid. Say the word and I’ll stand guard.”

“Certainly not,” promptly vetoed his sister. “I’m not _afraid_. I merely wish this disagreeable foolishness stopped. We will lock our doors and barricade them, if necessary. As for the windows opening onto the patio, I hardly know what to do. It’s not healthful to sleep with closed windows. They are so high from the floor of the patio, a ghost, or rather this idiotic person who is playing ghost, would find it hard work to climb up to them. We may as well leave them open.”

“We can set rows of tinware on the inner edge of the window sills in such a way that a touch would upset the whole business. If anyone tries to climb in a window, all the pots and pans will fall into the room with a grand crash and wake us up,” proposed Mabel. “Besides, the ghost won’t linger after such a rattle and bang.”

“A good idea,” approved Miss Carroll solemnly.

Eleanor, Bee and Patsy received it with laughter in which Mr. Carroll joined.

“We’d better make a raid on the kitchen and select our tinware,” said Eleanor gaily. “I’m proud to have such a resourceful sister. There’s nothing like getting ready for his ghostship.”

“I don’t imagine you’ll be troubled to-night by spectral intruders,” Mr. Carroll said seriously. “Such a thing is hardly likely to occur two nights in succession.”

“Emily’s not afraid, that’s certain,” declared Beatrice. “She’s going to sleep all alone downstairs to-night. She says she’s ‘not gwine to git skairt of no ghos’.’”

“I told her she might sleep in that little room at the end of the portrait gallery, but she said she preferred her own room,” commented Miss Martha. “I am agreeably surprised to find her not in the least cowardly or superstitious. It’s fortunate for us.”

“She told me she was going to lock her door and her windows and sleep with a club and a big bottle of ammonia beside her bed,” informed Patsy. “If the ghost comes she’s going to give him a warm reception.”

“We all seem to be planning for the ghost’s welfare,” chuckled Mabel. “Poor ghost. If he knows when he’s well off he’ll stay away from here to-night.”

Much open discussion of the spectral visitor had served to rob the idea of its original horror. Instead of a serious menace to tranquillity the ghost was rapidly becoming a joke.

“We’ve done a little secret preparing of our own,” boasted Patsy in a whisper to Bee as they strolled out of the dining room, arms twined about each other’s waists.

True to her determination, Patsy had slipped down to the stable that morning, commandeered the desired coil of rope and successfully smuggled it into her room. That afternoon, while Mabel and Eleanor were taking a walk about the grounds with Miss Carroll, the two conspirators locked their door and proceeded to test out the most important feature of their plan.

Patsy found the thin, tough rope admirable for her purpose. The sleeping room, spacious and square, also lent itself to her plan. The bed being in one corner left ample room for a free casting of the lariat. With the quaint mahogany center table moved back against the wall, she had a clear field.

For an hour Bee patiently allowed herself to be lassoed, moving from point to point, thereby to test Patsy’s skill. She soon discovered that her chum was an adept at the art. Wonderfully quick of movement and sure of aim, Patsy never failed to land the noose over her head, letting it drop below her shoulders and drawing it taut about her arms with almost incredible swiftness. At the conclusion of the practice both agreed that the ghost’s chances were small against “Lariat Patsy,” as Bee laughingly nicknamed her.

Despite their numerous jests concerning the ghost, the Wayfarers’ hearts beat a trifle faster that night as they went to their rooms. Earlier in the evening the kitchen had been raided and amid much mirthful comment a goodly supply of tin and agate ware had been selected and carried upstairs for window decorations.

Patsy and Bee took part in these preparations merely, as Patsy confided to her chum, “for the looks of things.” Both considered their own private scheme as much more likely to bear fruit.

On retiring to their room for the night the door was dutifully locked. For half an hour the two sat talking with the lamps burning, waiting for the house to grow absolutely quiet. At ten minutes to twelve, Patsy brought forth the lariat from its hiding place in her trunk. Next, both girls slipped out of their white frocks only to don dark gowns which would not betray their presence in the room to the nocturnal intruder they were planning to receive.

“Shall I put out the lights?” whispered Bee.

“Yes. Then stand in that space opposite the door and see if I can rope you,” breathed Patsy.

Quickly Bee extinguished the two oil bracket lamps and a large oil lamp that stood on a pedestal in a corner. Into the room the moonlight poured whitely, lighting it fairly well except in the corners.

“All ready?” softly questioned Patsy, moving back toward the end of the room farthest from the door.

“Yes,” came the sibilant whisper.

An instant and Patsy had made a successful cast.

“It works splendidly,” she softly exulted. “Lets try it again.”

A few more trials of her prowess and she was satisfied to recoil the rope and sit down on the bed beside Bee.

“It’s time to unlock the door, Bee,” she murmured as the chime of midnight rang faintly on their ears from a tall clock at the end of the corridor.

“All right.”

Bee rose, tiptoed softly to the door and turned the key. Stealing back across the room she took up her position of vigilance a few feet from Patsy, seating herself upon a little low stool.

Patsy had posted herself on the edge of her trunk, lariat coiled, ready to spring into action at a moments notice. Over the house now hung the uncanny silence of midnight, so tense in its stillness that the two watchers could hear each other breathe.

For the first half hour neither experienced any Special discomfort. By the time that one o’clock had come and gone, both were beginning to feel the strain of sitting absolutely still in one position.

The distant note of the half hour found them weary, but holding their ground. Patsy was worse off than Bee. Bee could relax, at least a little, while she had to sit on the extreme edge of her trunk, constantly on the alert. Should their expected visitor enter the room, she must act with the swiftness of lightning or all their patient watching would have been in vain.

As she sat there it suddenly occurred to her how horrified her aunt would be, could she know what was going on only a few yards from where she slumbered so peacefully. Patsy could not resist giving a soft little chuckle.

“What is it?” whispered Bee.

“Nothing. Tell you to-morrow. I guess we can go to bed soon.”

“I guess so. It’s almost two o’clock.”

Silence again descended. The clock chimed three-quarters of the hour. Its plaintive voice ceased and the hush deepened until it seemed to Patsy almost too profound for endurance. And then it was broken by a sound, as of a door being softly opened.

Bee’s heart nearly skipped a beat as she listened. Patsy felt the cold chills race up and down her spine. Two pairs of eyes were now fastened in strained attention on the door. Was it opening? Yes, it surely was; slowly, very slowly. It was open at last! A huge white shape stood poised on the threshold. It moved forward with infinite caution. It had halted now, exactly on the spot where Bee had lately stood while Patsy tried out her prowess with the lariat.

Over in the corner Patsy was gathering herself together for the fateful cast. Up from the trunk she now shot like a steel spring. Through the air with a faint swishing sound the lariat sped. She pulled it taut to an accompaniment of the most blood-curdling shrieks she had ever heard. Next instant she felt herself being jerked violently forward.

“Bee!” she shouted desperately. “Take hold. I’m going!”

Bee sprang for the rope and missed it. Patsy shot past her across the room, headed for the door. Stubbornly clinging to the rope, she was bumped violently against the door casing, dragged through the doorway and on into the corridor.

As she shot down the stone passageway she was dimly conscious of doors opening along it and voices crying out in alarm. On she went, propelled by that sinister, terrible force ahead. Now she had bumped around another corner and was entering the picture gallery. At the ends and in the center of it bracket lamps burned dimly.

She could see the enormous white shape. It had paused in the center of the gallery. The relentless force had slackened. The rope now lay in loose coils along the gallery. And then something happened which nearly took Patsy’s breath.

Even in that faint light she saw the picture of the cavalier move forward. The huge white shape leaped straight to meet it. The rope began to move along the floor again. Patsy braced herself and tightened her grasp on the end she still held. Wonder of wonders! The apparition had disappeared.

Patsy heard an oddly familiar sound. Next she realized that the savage jerking of the rope had not begun again. As she stood staring at it, still clutching it tightly, there began again those same awful shrieks, mingled with snarls such as a cornered wild beast might utter.

In the midst of them she was suddenly surrounded by a frantic little group of persons. She heard her father saying: “Thank God, she’s safe!” She felt consciousness slipping from her like a cloak.

“The rope--hold the rope,” she mumbled, and pitched forward into a pair of extended arms.