“Now, Linda!” protested her companion. “So you really think that you can get into that house?”
“Without a doubt. And it’s going to be lots of fun.”
“Yes—maybe. Suppose there really is a ghost in the tower, Linda! You know you do read of such things——”
In spite of her gayety, Linda shivered. The memory of that ghastly face at the window was still vivid to her.
“It won’t be so bad if we go together,” she replied. “And there must be some explanation of that queer apparition.”
The day was beautiful and clear, and the sun shining; amidst all this loveliness the girls could not believe in ghosts. Dismissing the gruesome subject from their minds, they gave their attention to the country over which they were passing. Linda was flying low in the hope that she might identify the spot where the accident had occurred. She wanted to see how far it really was from the house which Helen Tower believed to have been her home.
It was Dot who spied it first—the big oak in the field, where they had landed to offer help to the injured girl. A moment later they saw the road, winding as it did over the hill, from whence that gray car had so suddenly and so disastrously appeared.
Dot marked the spot on the map which she held in her lap and Linda flew on towards the house with the tower. About three miles beyond they caught a glimpse of it through the trees.
They flew across in front of the house, over a big field which had evidently once been a lawn, but which was now overgrown with weeds and tall grass, but Linda decided not to land there. It was too conspicuous a place to leave the “Ladybug,” in case anyone came along. Instead she came down behind the barn as before, the girls walked around to the front of the house, by the side away from the kitchen. Linda carried her tool kit—“just like an ordinary robber,” she remarked—and they climbed the wooden porch steps to the front door.
“Wait!” whispered Dot, in awe. “I hear an awfully queer sound!”