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brought the “Ladybug” to earth on the field near the
Inn, where Mr. Clavering’s party had already gathered.

131
 Chapter XI
The Return of the Flyers

The older people who had gone by boat and taxicab to

the Inn at Lake Winnebago arrived early on Saturday
afternoon. What was their surprise to be met at the
door by Joe Elliston and Sarah Wheeler!

“How did you get here so soon?” demanded Mr.

Clavering in amazement. “And did you find the prize?”

The young man flushed.

“No, sir, we never even got started. One of my wheels

dug into a sand bank at the take-off, and was slightly
damaged. There didn’t seem to be much use waiting to
have it fixed, while the others got all that start. So I
went back and got my car, and Sarah and I drove.”

Miss Carlton nodded approvingly.

“You certainly showed good sense, Joe,” she remarked.

“I have been terribly nervous and worried all afternoon,
on account of that frightful storm.”

“Oh, you can be sure that Linda is equal to any kind of 132
weather,” put in Sarah, reassuringly. “If there’s one
aviatrix in the world who knows what she’s doing, it’s
your niece!”
“I hope so,” commented the older woman. “But it isn’t
only Linda I’m worried about—it’s everybody. I shan’t
have a happy minute until all seven planes arrive.”

“Then you’ll never have a happy moment, Miss Carlton,”

remarked Joe, teasingly. “Because our plane can’t
arrive!”

“Well then, six planes,” corrected the other, smiling.

“It’s possible,” observed Mrs. Crowley, “that they may all

have been forced down on account of that storm. So
they may not get here till morning. I don’t intend to
worry until I hear bad news.”

“That’s the idea!” approved Mr. Clavering. “Now how

about some iced drinks, and some sandwiches. What’ll
it be?”

The whole group, composed of half a dozen older

people and the young couple, seated themselves on the
beautiful porch overlooking the lake and sipped the
cooling drinks with which the maids supplied them at
Mr. Clavering’s orders. They had scarcely finished when
a taxicab drew up to the Inn and Ralph and the two
Keens got out.

“What luck?” demanded everybody at once. 133

Madge Keen laughingly told the story.

“The only prize we got was a lot of bruises at Columbus,

trying to make a landing in too great a hurry, to get out
of the storm. Bert smashed the plane, Mr. Clavering.”

“Don’t worry about that,” replied the latter, reassuringly.

“The insurance will take care of any damage. Are you
sure you’re not hurt?”

“Positive.”

“And you, Ralph?”

“I left my autogiro at the Columbus airport,” replied the

young man; “because I didn’t want to risk the storm. I
knew if I waited it would be too late, for the other four
planes had already gone when I arrived.”

“Then Linda and Dot were both flying through that

dreadful thunderstorm!” cried Miss Carlton, woefully.

“And Kit and Sue!” added Mr. Clavering.

The party separated to go to their respective rooms to

unpack, and half an hour later the young people
gathered at the lake in their bathing suits. The storm
had completely passed and the sun was shining brightly.
Several of the older people joined the group, but both
Mr. Clavering and Miss Carlton preferred to wait at the
Inn for news of the missing flyers.

It was still early, however—too early to worry about 134

their arrival—and Mr. Clavering was rewarded about five
o’clock by the sight of two planes flying one behind the
other. Both passed over the Inn, and the passengers
leaned out and waved. Although neither Mr. Clavering
nor Miss Carlton could make out who they were, the
latter knew that neither was Linda. She did not know
much about airplanes, but at least she could identify an
autogiro when she saw it.

Both planes landed some distance from the Inn, and Mr.
Clavering decided to go after the flyers in his car.
“I was afraid there weren’t going to be any planes here
at all,” he remarked to Miss Carlton as he left the porch.
“It would have been humiliating to have all the pilots
come over in cars.”

“Humiliating, perhaps, but very sensible,” returned the

other. She watched the sky all the while he was gone
and kept looking at her watch. Why, oh, why, must her
precious child be the last to arrive?

Kit and Tom Hulbert, Sue Emery and Frank Lawlor 135
returned with Mr. Clavering in a few minutes. They were
all in high spirits, obviously unharmed by the storm, but
they announced immediately that they had not found
the treasure.

“Linda got it, of course,” said Kit. “But she deserves it,
and I’m glad.”

Miss Carlton’s face lighted up with joy, not because her

niece had won the prize, but because she believed she
was safe.

“You have seen Linda?” she asked, eagerly.

Kit shook her head.

“No, Miss Carlton, we haven’t. Nobody has seen her

since the storm. But we four got on the wrong track,
and got lost, and Dot Crowley did the same thing. We
all landed beside a river, where there was a house with
the tower, but it wasn’t the right house.”

“Where is Dot?” inquired Miss Carlton.

“Coming. And you see that accounts for everybody

except Linda, because Dad told me that the others have
already arrived. So Linda must have the prize.”

Miss Carlton groaned.

“I don’t agree with you, Kitty dear,” she said. “It’s more
likely that Linda has crashed during that storm, and is
stranded—possibly hurt—in some lonely place.”

“Now please don’t worry, Miss Carlton,” urged Kitty, 136

sympathetically. “It’s only six o’clock, and you know
Linda is the best flyer of all. Besides, the ‘Ladybug’ is
safer than an ordinary plane.”

Mr. Clavering had given orders that the dinner be moved

on to seven-thirty, in the hope that Linda might arrive in
time. At exactly five minutes after the hour the
“Ladybug” came roaring through the skies, and to the
amusement of everyone, landed right on the front lawn
of the Inn. Trying to smile gayly in spite of her
encounter with Mrs. Fishberry and her vision of the
strange ghost in the tower, Linda Carlton stepped out.

Everybody ran down the steps to greet her, and her

aunt kissed her as if she had never expected to see her
again.

“You’re safe!” she cried, with intense relief.

“Get the treasure?” demanded Dot, excitedly.

“Yes,” replied Linda, smiling. “And it’s wonderful, Mr.

Clavering!” She dug into her pocket and displayed the
thousand dollar check to everyone’s view.

“Whew!” exclaimed Jim Valier. “Congratulations, Linda!

And can I go with you next time?”
At his joking words everybody all at once remembered
Amy. “What has happened to the child?” demanded
several of them at the same time.

Linda looked serious.

“She’s all right,” she hastened to inform them. “But the 137
queerest thing happened. That house must have been
her old home, and Mrs. Fishberry was there. She took
her away with her.”

Mr. Clavering nodded.

“That isn’t so strange as you might think,” he said.

“When I picked out the spot to hide the treasure, I was
flying over the country where Dot Crowley said the
accident must have occurred. And I selected that house
because the tower was so easily visible from the skies.”

“And did you meet Mrs. Fishberry when you hid the
treasure?” inquired Linda.

“No. The house was locked up and deserted. So I went

to the barn. I thought if anyone should happen along to
steal it, that a check like that wouldn’t be of any use to
them. I gave my bank a list of the people who might be
entitled to cash it, with strict orders to refuse anyone
else.”

The banquet and the dance that followed were a huge

success; even Miss Carlton had to admit that the
treasure hunt had ended wonderfully, without a single
real mishap. Moreover, there was no jealousy regarding
Linda’s triumph; they all thought that she deserved her
good fortune and rejoiced with her. Strangely enough,
she herself was the only member of the party who was
not entirely happy. She was worried about Amy, and still
haunted by the dreadful apparition which she had seen.

She could not bring herself to confide her experiences 138

and her fears to her aunt, who was so timid about
everything, but the following day, when the party had
scattered for swimming and for golf, she sought Dot
Crowley, and took her down to a bench beside the lake,
where they could be alone.

She told the other girl of her mistrust of Mrs. Fishberry,

and of her dread of what might happen to Amy, in the
keeping of that woman. Then she concluded by
describing the ghost in the tower.

Dot’s eyes opened wide in amazement.

“It must be a fake, Linda,” she said.

“It can’t be,” replied the other. “Because it moved. I saw

the hands move, and I’m almost positive the eyes
followed me!”

“No wonder the poor girl was so terrified. Remember

that first night in the hospital?”

“Yes. The thing frightened me, I can assure you, Dot.

And yet I feel that I’ve got to get to the bottom of it all.
It fascinates, too, but it terrifies me.”

“What terrifies you, Miss Carlton?” asked a voice behind

them.

“You do!” replied Linda, laughingly, as she turned about 139

to see Mike O’Malley grinning at her.
“Well, I didn’t mean to,” he apologized. “But will you
forgive me and tell me all about the hunt, and winning
that marvelous prize?”

“Of course,” agreed Linda, and she proceeded to relate

the story, even including Mrs. Fishberry’s reappearance.

“Did you get her address, when she took Amy away?”
he asked.

“No, I tried, but Mrs. Fishberry wouldn’t give it—said

she hadn’t a permanent one, only a hotel in Chicago.”

“Shucks!” cried Mike, in dismay. “There’s something

queer about this business! That fish is crooked, if I
know what I’m talking about. How about that home in
Montana she talked about the first time? And why didn’t
she mention this place before, if she had a key, and
could get in?— Miss Carlton, if you care for Amy, I think
you’d better go after her— I’d—like to help you.”

“Yes, I believe you’re right, Mike,” agreed Linda. “Only I

don’t know just what to do.”

“Let’s fly over to the place to-morrow,” suggested Dot.

“We could go right from here, instead of going home to
Green Falls first.”

“It suits me,” agreed Linda. It was just what she was 140
wanting, yet dreading to do.

“May I trail along after you in my Ford?” asked Mike.

“Yes, indeed,” replied Linda. “I’d love to have you. And

will you bring some tools, so that we can force our way
into that tower, if it is necessary? I suspect trouble
there.”
“You’re really going to dare that?” demanded Dot.

“Dare what?” demanded Mike.

Linda and Dot exchanged whimsical glances. “You wait

and see,” said Linda. “If we get into that tower, I’ll show
you the strangest sight you ever laid your eyes on!”

“Then,” asserted the boy, “we’ll get in, if we have to

scale the walls! I’m always out for strange stories for
the Star.”

“Well, you’ll get one there,” Linda promised, “if you help
us get in.”

141
 Chapter XII
Trickery

When Linda left Amy with Mrs. Fishberry at the old

house, the latter slowly led the way towards the road.
But as soon as the autogiro vanished from sight she
stood still, and gazed straight at the girl.

“You still don’t remember me, Helen?” she asked.

The girl shook her head.

“No, I don’t, Mrs. Fishberry.”

“Call me Aunt Elsie, please— But you claim to remember

the house?”

“Yes—sort of. But you said I lived in Montana,” she

replied, in confusion.

“You lived here with your grandfather for a while,” Mrs. 142
Fishberry explained, “after your father and mother died.
They were killed in an automobile accident when you
were a baby—” So far this was the truth. But what the
woman went on to add was a lie which she told at Ed
Tower’s request.—“After your grandfather died, I took
you to Montana to live with me. Your uncle Ed is your
only living relative. He and your father were brothers.”

“And their name was Tower?” asked Helen.

“Yes. I think that’s why your grandfather built that high
tower on his house—because of his name. The idea
pleased him.”

“But if my uncle Ed is my only living relative, what are

you? I thought you said you were my aunt!”

“I’m not really your aunt yet—but I will be on Monday,

for I’m going to marry your uncle Ed,” admitted Mrs.
Fishberry. “No, I am a widow now—an old friend of the
family. But I offered to bring you up when your
grandfather died, and you have always called me ‘Aunt
Elsie.’ Your uncle was traveling so much on business
that he couldn’t take care of you.”

Mrs. Fishberry smiled to herself with satisfaction as she

told this story. Not a bad story, she thought, for one
that had to be made up so quickly. And the girl actually
seemed to believe it!

Both were silent for a moment, while another idea 143

leaped into the woman’s mind. Why not leave the girl
here, locked in this empty house, while she returned to
Chicago? They could get her again on Monday, when Ed
came over to set fire to the place. Surely there must be
food in the kitchen. But she mustn’t let Helen suspect
that she was going to be left alone!

“I don’t see the car,” she remarked, casually. “The driver

must have gone away. I told him if I didn’t come back in
half an hour that he needn’t wait— We’ll spend the
night here, dear, and your uncle will drive over for us to-
morrow.”

The girl stared at the speaker in horror. She simply

couldn’t spend another night in this awful house! All too
vividly she remembered the ghost in the tower.
“We can’t, Aunt Elsie!” she protested. “It’s too—awful!”
Her voice had sunk to a hoarse whisper.

“What’s too awful?” asked Mrs. Fishberry, lightly.

“That house. The ghost in the tower.”

“What ghost?”

“There is a terrible ghost in that tower at night. I can

see it from my old bed-room window. His—hands—
move!”

“Now dear, you’re being silly,” reproved the woman. 144

“How can you remember anything like that, that
happened so long ago! It must have been some foolish
dream you had when you were not much more than a
baby.”

“But I can even picture it now!” she persisted.

“Oh, come on,” urged the other, grasping her by the

arm. “You’re too old for such ridiculous fancies now.
Besides, I’m right here. Nothing can harm you.” She
almost dragged her back by force to the house.

“I—I—know I’ll die, Aunt Elsie,” sobbed Helen, her voice

shaking with fear. “Or go crazy.”

Mrs. Fishberry drew down the corners of her mouth.

“I think that you’re crazy now,” she remarked, with

biting scorn.

The girl started to cry piteously. She was weak and

helpless; now that Linda Carlton and her dear Aunt
Emily had been taken from her, there was no one in the
world to protect her. For she had no faith in this strange
uncle, who apparently cared as little for her as did this
harsh woman.

“I want Linda!” she cried. “Oh, Linda, why did you leave
me?”

“You little fool!” exclaimed Mrs. Fishberry in

exasperation. “You’re acting like an idiot. That girl was
no friend to you.”

“She was the best friend I ever had!” cried Helen, 145
vehemently.

“Oh, yeah?” snarled her companion. She was so irritated

that she gave up her pretense of being the kind aunt.
“And you were too dumb to see through those scheming
Carltons!”

“What do you mean?” demanded Helen, up in arms at

the slur to her new friends.

“They were trying to pull the wool over your eyes, of

course! So that you wouldn’t remember anything.”

“What do you mean by ‘pull the wool over my eyes?’”

“It’s just an expression, Miss Dumb-bell. I see that I

have to explain everything to you, as if you were a child
six years old. I’ll have to tell you in words of one
syllable:

“Linda Carlton was doing stunts with that plane of hers

near to the ground. Somebody, never mind who, but
somebody we know, saw her. And she crashed and hit
you! There wasn’t any car driving along the road at all.
So she made up the story and got her friend to swear
that it was true!”

Helen’s dark eyes were blazing with righteous anger.

“Don’t you dare to say Linda Carlton would lie!” she 146
exclaimed. “She’s the soul of honor, and so is Dot
Crowley!”

“You don’t say so,” observed Mrs. Fishberry,

sarcastically. “Well, I happen to know she did lie, and
we’ve got proof of it. Why do you suppose she and her
aunt were so nice to you? Because they thought you
were beautiful, or interesting, or rich?”

“No, I guess not,” admitted Helen, choking over the

words. “I guess I was a sight in those dreadful clothes
—” She turned to her companion accusingly. “If you
took care of me, why didn’t you dress me better?”

“Because we’re poor. I had to sacrifice everything to

provide food for you.”

“But your clothes are pretty nice,” observed the girl,

shrewdly.

“Well, what of it?” snapped the other. “You haven’t

answered my question yet. Why did the Carltons make
so much of you, if it wasn’t to stop your mouth? They
thought that if they entertained you for a week in their
house, afterwards, if your memory came back, you
wouldn’t sue them.”

“What do you mean by ‘sue them?’” asked Helen, with 147

that amazing ignorance that she showed every once in a
while regarding ordinary words. “There was a girl in
Linda’s crowd named Sue Emery——”
“You get dumber by the minute!” returned Mrs.
Fishberry. “We’re going to make Miss Linda Carlton pay
fifty thousand dollars damages because she smashed
into you with her plane. Now, do you get that?”

“You wouldn’t!” cried Helen, in horror. “You just

couldn’t!”

“Sure we could. The law is on our side.” The woman’s

manner suddenly changed, and she remembered to play
the part of the fond aunt. “Now don’t you worry, Helen,”
she added. “It’s for you we’re doing it. We’ll spend the
money on you. First, for a good doctor—a specialist to
restore your memory—and then for education and
pretty clothes. You’ll be a fine lady some day, if you
don’t act silly about Linda Carlton.”

“But I love her, and I don’t believe anything against her.”

“You love her more than you do me, because she took
care of you for a week, while I gave the best years of
my life to you!”

“I’m sorry, Aunt Elsie, but you can’t expect me to be

grateful for something I can’t remember.”

While they had been talking they had reached the front 148
door of the house and stopped at the steps of the
porch. The wooden boards had rotted and the heavy
door was sadly in need of paint. Everything about the
place suggested neglect, ruin, and decay.

Helen shuddered.

“Let’s not stay here!” she begged. “I’d rather walk all
the way to town than sleep in this haunted house over
night.”
“Nonsense,” replied the other. “I’m tired and hungry.
Come on in.”

She pulled the girl up the steps, and, selecting a large

key from her hand bag, inserted it into the lock and
turned the knob. The heavy door creaked and opened.

Inside, the house was gloomy and forbidding. All the

old-fashioned shutters were closed so that the
appearance within was almost of night. Helen stopped
at the doorway and shivered with fear.

“Come along back to the kitchen and we’ll see if we can

find something to eat,” said Mrs. Fishberry in a cheerful
tone.

“I don’t want to!” objected Helen.

“Don’t be a coward!” returned the other. “I’m ashamed

of you!”

Plucking up her courage the girl led the way through the 149
large dim hall, with its great dark staircase in the center,
to the wing where the kitchen had been built. The door
of this room was locked on the outside with another
huge key.

“Here we are!” exclaimed Mrs. Fishberry, as she opened

the door. “Now can’t we get some light into this room?”

She walked over to the windows and tried to raise them.

But they were evidently nailed and barred on the
outside.

“I wonder whether there is any food,” she remarked.

“And what kind of stove this is.”
“It’s an oil stove,” answered Helen, in a flash. “And
there’s a supply of oil under that table. And here’s
where the food is kept,” she added, pointing to a large
cupboard.

Mrs. Fishberry eyed her narrowly.

“You remember pretty well, Helen,” she said.

“Yes, I do. Look, here’s tea and sugar and oatmeal.

Well, we won’t starve.”

“That’s good. Now can you remember where to get the

water?”

“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 150

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.

151
 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.

Darting to the nearest window, she peered outside. But

as there was no view of the front from the kitchen, she
did not see her.

In a panic she started to scream.

“Mrs. Fishberry! Aunt Elsie! Where are you?”

Wildly she looked about the dimly-lighted room, as if in 152

some corner she expected to see the ghost of the tower,
working its evil upon them, because they had dared to
return to this old house.

But she saw nothing, and overcome with terror, she

sank to the floor in a bitter abandon of weeping.

The room grew darker; the silence became ominous.

Any moment she expected that weird apparition with its
skinny hands to enter through the closed windows, and
torture her. Now and again she heard queer moans and
creaks, but whether they were caused by the wind in
the trees outside, or mice in the ancient boards, she did
not know.

She must have fallen asleep, crouched in that position

on the floor, for when she regained consciousness it was
entirely dark in the kitchen. Hardly realizing where she
was, she stumbled to her feet and went right to the
drawer in the cupboard where the candles were kept.
She lighted one, and shivered anew at the weird,
gloomy shadows it cast upon the walls. If the house
seemed forbidding before, it was actually ghostly now.
Strange shapes seemed to rise out of the darkness, to
leer at her in her loneliness. She groped her way to the
stove and sat down upon the hard kitchen chair beside
it to think.

It was the thought of Linda Carlton that kept her from 153
losing her reason. Linda, who had flown over the
Atlantic Ocean alone in the darkness, Linda who had
assured Helen that her fears were groundless. She must
live through this experience, she told herself, live to be
a credit to the girl who had saved her life! Live to stand
up for Linda Carlton when she should be accused by
false witnesses! With a grim determination to control
herself at any cost, she walked back to the cupboard for
a saucer and a spoon, and forced herself to eat the
oatmeal which had all the while been cooking on the oil
stove.

The food revived her, and the water tasted good.

Somehow she felt better.

Remembering that her bedroom was lighter than the

kitchen, because she could open the shutters, Helen
took a candle and ascended the stairs. But here a new
terror took possession of her. She recalled the fact that
she could see the ghost in the tower from the window!

Trembling at the very thought, she placed her candle on 154

the old-fashioned wash stand and sat down on the big
wooden bed to try to get command of herself. What
would Linda Carlton do in a case like this, she
steadfastly asked herself?

“Forget it, of course,” she replied aloud in a natural

tone, and the sound of her own voice, without even a
tremble, gave her courage.

“I won’t even open that shutter,” she decided, “and then

I shan’t have to see it!”

With this resolve, she set herself to the task of opening

the other window and of making her preparations for
bed. How familiar it all was! She remembered even the
contents of the bureau drawers: an old doll which she
had kept since her childhood, some other toys, and a
few clothes. Very few indeed, for she must have been
exceedingly poor.

As she wandered about the old-fashioned room, so

different from the bedrooms of Linda’s friends, her eyes
lighted upon the book case. Filled with strange volumes