“Yes, there’s a pump out back. But this door won’t open. It must be barred up—yes, I remember it was when Linda and I looked at it.”
“That’s all right. You go out the front door with these two buckets and bring in some water. I’ll be looking about for a place to sleep.”
While the girl was gone, Mrs. Fishberry made an inspection. A small, winding staircase led from the kitchen to a room above, a bedroom, and in this she decided that Helen could sleep. It would be a simple matter to slip out of the kitchen and lock the girl in, leaving her here until Monday morning. With food and water at hand, no court could hold Mrs. Fishberry responsible if anything happened. And what was the use of taking her to Chicago and paying unnecessary board for her in the meanwhile?
It was all accomplished without the slightest difficulty. When Helen returned, Mrs. Fishberry waited only long enough to light the oil stove and to put some oatmeal on to cook. Then she asked the girl to run up the staircase and see whether she had dropped her handkerchief when she was up in the bedroom. By the time Helen had returned the kitchen door to the hall was locked and Mrs. Fishberry was turning the key in the outer door of the house.
Five minutes later she stepped into her taxicab and bade the driver return to the railroad station.
Chapter XIII
The Haunted House
When Helen came down the crooked staircase from the bedroom into the kitchen, she did not perceive at once that she was alone. Though not so dark as the rest of the house—for there were no shutters at the kitchen windows—this room was far from bright. Two small windows afforded the only means of admitting the light, and each of these had several boards nailed across the outside.
“Aunt Elsie, where are you?” she called, trying to keep her voice calm.
There was no answer.
“Aunt Elsie!” she cried, in a louder tone, as she rushed over to the door. To her horror she found it locked.