“Well, if they are let’s go and see if we can rout them out,” suggested Jack. “There aren’t many places of concealment about the bungalow.”
While the other girls helped Cora and Hazel put to rights the upset rooms, the boys made a thorough search outside. There did not seem to be any place where the mysterious persons might conceal themselves in order to spy on the bungalow. There were trees all about, but the underbrush had been cut away, and there was small chance for concealment. The boys also started to make an inspection about their own bungalow, but this was cut short by a shower that came up.
“Well, so far, we are just about where we started,” said Jack, as he and his two chums were eating supper with the girls that night. “We haven’t found out anything.”
“But we will!” declared Cora. “I’m not going to be beaten this way. We’ll organize a campaign.”
They talked to this end, making a tentative plan that the next time they went off on a trip, some member of the party would be left behind in concealment in the bungalow, to see, if possible, who the visitor or visitors were.
“And if that doesn’t work we’ll try something else,” said Walter.
It was evident, though, that after the first few trials the new plan was not going to work. Though the boys took turns in remaining in concealment while the others went away, not a sound or sign of disturbance was noted. No furniture was misplaced, and nothing was taken.
“We’ve got to have a new scheme,” said Cora. “Let’s talk to Mr. and Mrs. Floyd about it. Maybe they can suggest something.”
But the caretaker and his wife had nothing to offer. They were as much worried and disturbed by the queer happenings as were the girls and boys. And though they were generous and kindly souls, they were not quick thinkers, and had little imagination.
“It’s just spirits,” said Mrs. Floyd. “Spirits come and go.”