“I can hardly see where I’m going,” remarked Mr. Gay. “You better take my hand, Mary Lou.”
His daughter seized it gladly; she was only too pleased to feel its human, reassuring pressure. She led the way to the rear of the second floor, up the attic steps to Elsie’s room.
Here they found one of the windows open, so that a subdued light brightened the attic room. But there was no sunshine, for the boughs of the cedar trees pressed against the window sill.
Silky had been following them at a respectful distance, and Mary Louise lifted him up in her arms as she opened the closet door. A musty smell greeted her, but she had no difficulty in finding the clothing she wanted, and she held it close to Silky’s nose.
“This is Elsie’s,” she said, just as if the dog were human. “Elsie is lost, and you must find her.”
Still keeping the dog in her arms and the dress close to his nose, she carefully descended the stairs.
“I’d like to see Miss Grant’s bedroom,” said Mr. Gay as they reached the second floor. “I want a look at the mattress.”
“O.K., Daddy. But you go first. And have your gun ready if you open that closet door. I think that’s where the ghosts live.”
“Mary Lou!” cried her father in amazement. “You don’t believe that stuff, do you?”
“I wish I did,” sighed the girl. “Because that would make Elsie innocent.”