“Yes. I think that’s why your grandfather built that high tower on his house—because of his name. The idea pleased him.”
“But if my uncle Ed is my only living relative, what are you? I thought you said you were my aunt!”
“I’m not really your aunt yet—but I will be on Monday, for I’m going to marry your uncle Ed,” admitted Mrs. Fishberry. “No, I am a widow now—an old friend of the family. But I offered to bring you up when your grandfather died, and you have always called me ‘Aunt Elsie.’ Your uncle was traveling so much on business that he couldn’t take care of you.”
Mrs. Fishberry smiled to herself with satisfaction as she told this story. Not a bad story, she thought, for one that had to be made up so quickly. And the girl actually seemed to believe it!
Both were silent for a moment, while another idea leaped into the woman’s mind. Why not leave the girl here, locked in this empty house, while she returned to Chicago? They could get her again on Monday, when Ed came over to set fire to the place. Surely there must be food in the kitchen. But she mustn’t let Helen suspect that she was going to be left alone!
“I don’t see the car,” she remarked, casually. “The driver must have gone away. I told him if I didn’t come back in half an hour that he needn’t wait— We’ll spend the night here, dear, and your uncle will drive over for us to-morrow.”
The girl stared at the speaker in horror. She simply couldn’t spend another night in this awful house! All too vividly she remembered the ghost in the tower.
“We can’t, Aunt Elsie!” she protested. “It’s too—awful!” Her voice had sunk to a hoarse whisper.
“What’s too awful?” asked Mrs. Fishberry, lightly.
“That house. The ghost in the tower.”