The Secret of the Sundial Part 3

Madge went on reflectively. "Now what I can't understand is why anyone would come to a boarded-up mansion at midnight to dig up the garden."

Cara, who was not particularly imaginative, could not suggest a possible explanation. She watched with hopeful interest as her friend began to turn up the loose earth. After Madge had dug for fifteen minutes she decided it was not worth the effort.

"Shucks! I'm convinced there's nothing hidden here. And if anyone should find us digging up the yard it might be hard to explain."

She carefully repacked the soil in the hole, and then to Cara's wonderment, returned the spade to the place where it had been found under the lilac.

"Why take such pains?" she asked.

"Because I don't want your 'ghost' to know we've used his spade," Madge explained. "I'm curious to learn what there is worth digging for in this yard. I mean to find out too!"

"Just how do you propose to go about it?" Cara questioned skeptically.

"Oh, by keeping my eyes and ears open. You can tell that whoever was here last night didn't care to be observed. It's my opinion he'll come back to do some more digging."

"Well, if he does, the occasion will be conspicuous for my absence," Cara declared feelingly.

She glanced at her wrist watch and flashed it before her friend's eyes.

"Do you see what time it is? I must be getting home."

Madge gazed regretfully toward the boarded-up house and wished that she might at least peep inside to see what secrets it guarded. It would be relatively simple to pry loose a board, but of course she had no intention of ever doing that. As it was, she felt somewhat guilty because she had trespa.s.sed.

She followed Cara to the gate and after looking about to see that the alley was deserted, climbed over. They walked thoughtfully toward their homes, parting at the Wayne residence.

"Better keep this little affair under your hat," Madge advised. "If you do, we may be able to have some fun out of it."

"Trust me," Cara promised. "But if you're planning any midnight visits to the mansion or anything of the kind, count me out."

Madge laughed and turned away. Already she was planning another trip to the old mansion, but she thought it wise not to mention it just yet.

"It behooves me to learn a few facts about the Swensters before I jump to hasty conclusions," she told herself, as she continued home. "Between now and my next visit, I must unearth the family history."

CHAPTER IV The Swenster Pearls

School did not keep the following day, and early afternoon found Madge and Cara camped on the Brady front porch, comparing notes.

"I couldn't learn a thing about the Swenster mansion except that it's owned by an old lady who hasn't been near the place in years," the latter confessed regretfully.

"My luck wasn't a great deal better," Madge admitted. "However, I did find out the name of a woman who may be able to tell us what we want to know. Her name is Hilda Grandale."

"Haven't I heard of her before?"

"Probably. She's a real old lady-eighty or ninety. She is reputed to know all the old residents of the town and their histories. In her day she was considered quite a belle."

"Where does she live?"

"That's the catch. She moved to the country a few years ago. She's living on a farm with her sister. It's in Cahoun County."

"Then we'll have to scratch her off our list."

"Oh, I don't know. Uncle George might be persuaded to loan us his coupe.

We could drive out there in a couple of hours."

The idea seemed an excellent one so the girls went to search for Mr.

Brady. They found him in the back yard washing the car. With shrewd calculation they s.n.a.t.c.hed up rags and aided him in polishing the nickel work. Mr. Brady eyed them somewhat suspiciously and was not surprised when Madge inquired: "By the way, Uncle George, will you need your old hack for a few hours?"

"Just for that, I'll not let you have it," he told her sternly, but the next minute he smiled and turned over the keys.

Madge backed the coupe out the driveway, missed a telephone pole by scant inches, and sped down the street. She took a main highway out of the city and soon was in open country. Having previously inquired the way, she thought they would have no difficulty in finding the farmhouse where Hilda Grandale lived. Soon after the speedometer registered thirty miles, Cara spied the name for which they searched upon a roadside mailbox.

The gate was open and they drove into the barn yard. Squawking chickens darted to safety and a flock of geese waddled off hissing their protest.

The commotion proclaimed their approach, and as the girls halted the car, a woman peered out the kitchen door. She hastily straightened her hair and came down the walk to meet them.

Madge stated their mission, saying that they wished to visit Mrs.

Grandale.

"I'm not sure Mother is awake," the woman returned doubtfully. "She usually takes a nap about this time. But if she's up I know she'll be glad to see you. She does enjoy company and so few people ever get out this far."

She led the girls to the house, seating them in a prim, old fashioned living room. They begged her not to disturb Mrs. Grandale, but she went upstairs, returning to say that her mother was awake and would be down shortly.

In a few minutes, the old lady came slowly down the stairs. She was dressed in severe black, with a long full skirt which swept the floor, and wore a white lace cap. Her face was wrinkled and sunken but her eyes were as bright as those of a young girl. She beamed kindly upon Madge and Cara as they arose to greet her. They did not offer to help her to a chair for they guessed that she was proud of her ability to get around by herself.

"Let me see, do I know your names?" she inquired, studying their faces intently. "You're not the Sterling girl, are you?"

"Yes, I am," Madge acknowledged in astonishment. She never before had met Mrs. Grandale. "How did you guess?"

"Didn't guess," the old lady cackled in delight. "I could tell those features anywhere. I used to know your father, my dear, and you're the picture of him."

Madge looked a trifle embarra.s.sed at the reference to her father. His name was seldom mentioned in the Brady household although no disgrace was attached to his memory. He had simply disappeared when Madge was a child, and no one had ever heard of him again. Some day she hoped to learn what had taken him away from Claymore, but at the present she preferred that Mrs. Grandale not dwell upon the subject.

She introduced Cara Wayne, and for a time it was next to impossible for the girls to get a word in edgewise, as Mrs. Grandale immediately went into a long monologue on the subject of the Wayne family history. By concerted action they finally managed to switch the subject to the Swenster mansion.

"In my day, it was the house of Claymore," Mrs. Grandale declared. "And what a pity that it has fallen into decay! Not that folks didn't say the Swensters would rue the day they built it-it was much too fine for the city even in prosperous times."

"Tell us about the Swensters," Madge encouraged.

"They were a proud family," the old lady ruminated, obviously relishing the tale. "At one time, old Mr. Swenster practically ran the town. His daughters were in society and they thought the world depended upon the swish of their skirts. At least Florence did."

"How many girls were there?" Cara asked.

"Two. Rose and Florence. Rose was the younger and the favorite with her father. She was a pretty thing too. Far too handsome to suit Florence. I think I have a picture somewhere."

"Oh, never mind," Madge said hastily. She was interested in the story which she felt Mrs. Grandale was on the verge of telling, and did not wish her to digress lest she forget.