(#25) The Ghost of Blackwood Hall (3 page)

Not only might a conference with Howard Brex’s former employer bring results, he agreed, but there was a possibility that the suspect might even pawn the stolen articles in his home town.

“It’s the most likely place for him to have a fence,” declared the lawyer.

As Nancy hurried to the telephone to call her friends, he warned her to be careful in following up the clue in the distant city. To Nancy’s delight, George and Bess also received permission to make the trip.

Hannah Gruen helped Nancy pack, while Mr. Drew made plane and hotel reservations. Before leaving, Nancy telephoned to Mrs. Putney to ask permission to take the imitation jewelry to New Orleans.

“I appreciate your efforts,” the widow said, “but I’m sure nothing will come of the trip.”

“Why do you say that, Mrs. Putney?”

“Last night I had another message from my departed husband. He said the thief who stole my jewelry lost it in a large body of water, and it’ll never be recovered!”

Nancy was skeptical of the widow’s messages but wisely did not argue with Mrs. Putney. She simply said she would be leaving in the morning with her two friends, and promised to report to the widow immediately upon her return.

The next day the three girls boarded the plane for New Orleans. The day was perfect for flying. An attractive hostess served them a tasty lunch and spent most of her spare time chatting with them.

Once, when the plane stopped briefly to pick up passengers, the girls alighted for a little while to stretch their legs. Upon taking their seats again, they noticed that a dark-haired woman in her late thirties had taken the empty seat next to Bess. She regarded the three intently as they sat down, and smiled in a friendly manner.

“Is this your first plane trip?” she asked Bess.

“No!” Bess replied. Then, not wishing to be rude, she added, “We’re going to New Orleans.”

“You’ll love the city!” the woman declared. “Where are you staying?”

Bess told her. Nancy, seated in front of them, was sorry their hotel had been named. She had wanted to keep their visit to New Orleans as secret as possible. When they reached their hotel George scolded her cousin.

“You’ll never learn to be a detective, Bess,” she said severely. “You can’t tell who that woman on the plane might be.”

Nancy, acting as peacemaker, said, “Let’s forget it, girls, and do some sightseeing. It’s too late to call on Mr. Johnson, Howard Brex’s former boss, today. We’ll go there in the morning.”

Nancy’s friends soon found that she did not intend to spend the time in mere sightseeing. Whenever she came to a jewelry shop, or a pawnshop that was open, she insisted that they go in and look at the jewelry on display.

The trip proved to be pleasurable, if not profitable. Their inquiries led them into many sections of New Orleans. The French Quarter, where the buildings were charming in their elegance of a bygone day, interested them most. Beautiful iron-work, delicately tinted plaster walls, old court-yards, once the center of fashionable Creole family life, fascinated the girls.

On a balcony, a bright-colored parrot chattered at them in friendly fashion. A smiling woman, bearing a basket of flowers, stopped to sell a flower to each girl. On all sides, the visitors saw interesting characters, and heard the soft-spoken dialect which was a blend of French, Cajun, and Gumbo.

Bess sighed contentedly. “If I could only spend a month in this lovely old city!” she said.

“It would be nice,” Nancy agreed. “But come on. Here’s another shop.”

It was the fifteenth they had visited, and even Nancy was becoming weary. She had not seen any trace of the stolen jewelry.

“Let’s quit,” urged Bess. “I’m starved. Suppose we go to one of those famous restaurants and have oysters baked with garlic, and Creole shrimp, and—”

“And take on five pounds,” scoffed George, looking with disfavor at Bess’s generous weight.

But the girls ate sensibly and went to bed early. In the morning they accompanied Nancy to the jewelry firm for which Howard Brex had worked. Mr. Johnson, the head of the company, was most cooperative. He studied the imitation jewelry which Nancy showed him, and compared it to some pieces of his own which Brex had made.

“I’d certainly say that all of these were made by the same man,” Mr. Johnson declared.

Then he told the girls what he knew of his former salesman. “He was a fine craftsman and made excellent designs,” Mr. Johnson said. “Too bad he got into trouble.”

“I understand he’s been released from prison,” Nancy said. “Have you any idea where he is?”

“Not the slightest, but I’ll be glad to let you know if I hear anything.”

Nancy left both her hotel address and that of her River Heights home. She was in a thoughtful mood as she accompanied her friends on their round of sightseeing and to lunch in a quaint restaurant.

“New Orleans is wonderful!” Bess exclaimed. Counting on her fingers, she added, “We’ve seen the banana wharf, the market, the garden district, and that old cemetery where all the dead are buried in tombs above the ground.”

“That’s because this place is below sea level,” said George. “Say, do you suppose that guide thought we believed the story about the tomb which is supposed to glow at night with an unearthly light?”

“He said spirits come out and weave back and forth like wisps of fog,” said Bess.

“That’s just what they are—fog,” George declared practically.

“Oh, I don’t for a minute believe in ghosts,” Bess replied quickly.

“I wish we had time to go to Grand Isle, the haunt of Lafitte and his men,” said Nancy.

“Who is he?” Bess asked.

“He was a famous pirate,” Nancy replied. “According to tradition, when burying treasure, he always murdered one of his band and left his ghost to guard the hidden loot!”

As the girls left the restaurant and started up the street, Nancy happened to turn around. Emerging from the door of the restaurant was a woman.

“Girls,” Nancy said in a whisper, “don’t look now, but the woman who was on the plane just came out of our restaurant. I think she was spying on us!”

“Why would she do that?” Bess asked.

“If she follows us, then I’ll be convinced she’s trying to find out what we’re up to in New Orleans,” Nancy replied.

To prove her point, the young sleuth turned down one street and up another. The woman did the same.

“I’m going to try something,” Nancy said quietly. “Two can play this game.”

It was easy for the girls to dodge into three different shops as they rounded another corner. Their pursuer, confused, stood on the sidewalk for several seconds, then turned and walked back in the direction from which she had come. Cautiously Nancy emerged, then Bess and George.

The girls trailed the woman for several blocks. Though there were many pedestrians on the street, they were able to keep their quarry in sight. Apparently she was in a hurry, for she walked quickly, not once slackening her pace. As they rounded a corner, she suddenly disappeared into an alley, Nancy darted forward, just in time to see the woman enter a building.

When she and her friends reached it, Bess was not in favor of continuing the search. Nancy insisted the place was innocent-looking enough, and walked through the open arch. In the distance the girls could hear low singing.

They proceeded down a dimly lighted hall, and in a moment the girls stood beside the door beyond which the singing was coming. A placard on it read:
Church of Eternal Harmony.

Bess, intrigued, lost her fears and urged that they go inside. Nancy hesitated. At that moment the door opened. A man with long white hair and a beard invited them to enter.

“Our admission is reasonable,” he said, smiling. “Only two dollars. If the spirit speaks, your questions will be answered.”

Still Nancy hesitated. She realized now that a séance was going on inside. Having no desire to spend two dollars so foolishly, she was about to retreat, when Bess walked boldly into the room beyond. George followed, and Nancy was forced to go along.

After paying admission they seated themselves on a bench near the door. The singing had ceased, and as the girls’ eyes grew accustomed to the dim lights, they could see that a number of people sat on benches scattered about the place.

On one wall hung a life-size portrait of a woman swathed in white veils up to her eyes. Long dark hair fell below her shoulders. Every face in the room was upturned, gazing at the portrait.

Presently the white-bearded man announced that all would have to help summon her spirit.

“Let us sit around this table,” he intoned.

Bess stood up to go forward, but Nancy pulled her back to the bench. Several others in the room arose and seated themselves on chairs around an oblong table. The old man took his place at the head of it, his back against the wall, a few feet beyond the portrait.

“Let no one utter a sound,” he requested.

Silence fell upon the room. Nancy strained her eyes toward the table, watching intently. The white-bearded man sat perfectly still, looking straight ahead of him. Presently a smile flickered over his face.

“I feel the spirits approaching,” he said in a scarcely audible voice.

The words were hardly out of his mouth when three raps were heard. The old man, looking pleased, interpreted the sounds as meaning, “I am here,” and invited the participants to ask the spirit for answers to their problems. He explained that one rap would mean Yes, two No, and five would mean that danger lay ahead and the questioner should take every precaution to avoid it.

For several seconds no one spoke. The spirit gave three more sharp raps. Then, shyly, a woman at the table asked:

“Will my child be ill long?”

There came two sharp raps, and the questioner gave a sigh of relief. Another silence followed. Nancy felt Bess lean forward. Out of the corner of her eye, Nancy had noted that her friend was completely entranced by what was going on. Realizing that Bess was about to ask a question, and fearful she might say something about Mrs. Putney’s mystery, Nancy leaned over and whispered into her friend’s ear:

“Please don’t say anything!”

“Silence!” ordered the old man at the table. “Do you wish to drive away our friendly spirit? Ill luck follows him who disturbs the work of the spirit.”

As he spoke, the dim lights faded out. The room was in complete darkness.

Suddenly, on the wall above the portrait, a faint glow appeared. It grew larger, until the whole portrait seemed to be taking form. Bess and George, seated on either side of Nancy, huddled close to her.

Bess nervously clutched her friend’s arm until Nancy winced from the pressure. The next moment the three girls gasped.

The portrait had come to life!

The white-bearded man arose from his chair.

“Good people,” he said, “Amurah has come to us to speak. But she will answer only the most important questions. Approach no closer, or her lifelike spirit will vanish on the wind.”

“Oh, Amurah, tell me, please,” implored a young woman from a far corner of the room, “if Thomas comes back to me, shall I marry him?”

Amurah lowered her eyes, then nodded.

“Oh, thank you, thank you,” the young woman exclaimed, delight in her voice.

Again Nancy could feel that Bess was about to ask a question. Quietly she laid a finger across the girl’s lips. The light around the portrait began to fade.

“Alas, the spirits are leaving us!” the white-bearded medium interpreted.

A few seconds later the lights came on in the room. The old man, arising, made a low bow to the portrait, then announced he regretted that the spirits had not been able to remain long enough to answer the questions of all those present.

“Should you wish further knowledge,” he said, “you may seek it from Norman Towner, a photographer, who has a direct connection with the spirit world. From time to time messages appear upon Mr. Towner’s photographic plates.”

The man ushered his clients from the room, but not before each of them had paused to look at Amurah. George had the temerity to touch the canvas. There was no question but that it was only a portrait. Upon reaching the street, the three girls paused.

“Wasn’t it wonderful!” Bess exclaimed, adding that they should go at once to the studio of Norman Towner.

“Nonsense,” George said. “You’ve already spent two dollars and got nothing for it.”

“That’s because Nancy wouldn’t let me ask a question,” Bess argued. “Maybe I’ll get an answer when I have my picture taken.”

To George’s amazement, Nancy encouraged the visit. Not having seen the woman they had followed to the séance. Nancy felt she might have gone to the studio.

By inquiring for directions from pedestrians, the girls arrived at length at a courtyard entered by means of a long passageway. At one side of it a flight of iron stairs led to a carved door which bore the photographer’s sign.

“Up we go!” George laughed, starting ahead.

The studio, though old and a bit shabby, was well furnished. The proprietor, a short man with intent dark eyes and an artist’s beret cocked over one ear, appeared so unusually eager that the girls wondered if he had many customers.

Nancy inquired the cost of having individual photographs made. The price was reasonable, so the three friends decided upon separate poses.

After the pictures had been taken, the photographer disappeared into the darkroom. Soon he returned with two dripping plates. The pictures on them of George and Bess were excellent. To Bess’s disappointment, however, not a trace of writing appeared on the glass.

“Where is my friend’s picture?” inquired George, referring to Nancy.

The photographer returned to the darkroom for it. When Nancy glanced at the wet plate, she inhaled sharply. Just beneath her photograph were the words:

Beware your client’s request.

“Spirit writing!” Bess gasped.

“Yes, a message from someone in the other world is warning you not to go on with your work,” the photographer said slowly, with emphasis on the word “warning.” “Young lady, do not take the warning lightly.”

“No, I won’t,” said Nancy.

She had just glimpsed in the photographer’s darkroom the woman they had seen on the plane! The next instant the door closed, and the lights in the studio went out. The room, with its one window heavily curtained, was in complete darkness.