“Do I have to go?” implored the girl. “I’ll die if I ever have to live in that house again.”
Mrs. Fishberry’s eyes narrowed.
“So you remember it, do you?” she demanded.
“Only faintly—it—seems to me that I did live there. Was there a ghost?”
“Of course not,” replied Mrs. Fishberry. “You lived here with your old grandfather and when he died, maybe you imagined you saw his ghost— But come along. I’m taking you to Chicago with me. I promise you won’t have to live there again.”
Amy looked reassured.
“All right,” she agreed. “I’ll go. But please give Miss Carlton our address, so that she can write to me, and can send me my pretty clothes.”
“Miss Carlton will hear from me soon,” replied the woman with a knowing smile. “Just now I can’t give any address, for we’ll go to a hotel in Chicago. Now come. I have a taxi down the road.”
Tearfully Amy kissed Linda good-by, as if she were her only real friend in the world, and the aviatrix returned to her autogiro. But she was despondent; all the joy of finding the treasure was lost in the grief of the parting with Amy.
She climbed into the cockpit and started her engine. As the “Ladybug” rose into the air, and reached the height of the tower, Linda remembered the ghost and could not restrain her impulse to circle back around the house, to take a glimpse for herself through the windows. Luckily there were no large trees close to the walls; she believed that she could pass the place on the side, and with the use of her field glasses, peer into the very window which had been visible to Amy if she had really slept in that wing over the kitchen, as she believed.