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Highacres (Dramatic Reading)

<h3>THE LETTER</h3> "I don't understand——" Mrs. Westley lifted anxious eyes from her soup-plate. "Gyp always telephones! And both of them——" "I saw Peggy Lee and Pat Everett coming home from the dressmaker's and she wasn't with them," offered Isobel. "But she's all right, mother." "Such dreadful things happen——" "I'd like to see anyone try to kidnap Gyp," laughed Graham. Then he added, in an off-hand way: "The ice broke on the lake out at Highacres to-day. Guess the skating's over." "Graham!" cried Mrs. Westley, springing to her feet so precipitously that her chair fell backward with a crash. Her face was deathly white. Graham, frightened by his careless remark, went to her quickly. "Mother—I didn't mean to frighten you! Why there's only one chance in a hundred the girls were on the ice. If they'd been skating some of us would have seen them!" "Where are they?" groaned the mother. "They might have gone on the lake—afterwards—and not known—and broken through—and—no one would—know——" She shuddered; only by a great effort could she keep back the tears. "Mother, please don't worry," begged Isobel. "Let's call up every one of the girls and then we'll surely find them." Not one of them wanted any more dinner. They went to the library and Graham began telephoning to Gyp's schoolmates—a tedious and discouraging process, for each reported that she had not seen either Gyp or Jerry since the close of school. "I can't bear it! We must do something——" Mrs. Westley sprang to her feet. "Graham, call Uncle Johnny and tell him to come at once." Something of the mother's alarm affected Isobel and Graham. Graham's voice was very serious as he begged Uncle Johnny, whom he found at his club, to come over "at once." Then he slipped his arm around his mother as though he wanted her to know that he would do anything on earth for her. Uncle Johnny listened to the story of Gyp's and Jerry's disappearance with a very grave face. He made Graham tell twice how the ice had broken that afternoon on the lake, frightening the skaters away. "What time was that?" "Oh—early. About three o'clock. There were only four or five of us on the lake. You see, hockey practice is over." "But I remember Gyp saying this morning that she was going to have one more skate!" cried Isobel suddenly. "Before we report this to the police, Mary, we'll go out to Highacres," Uncle Johnny said. And the thought of what he might find there made Mrs. Westley grip the back of a chair for support. "Come with me, Graham. Isobel—stay with your mother." Graham went off to the garage to give such directions as Uncle Johnny had whispered to him. Just then Barbara Lee, whom Isobel had reached on the telephone, came in, hurriedly. "I talked to the girls for a moment after the close of school. They were standing near the library door. They had on their coats and hats." Her report was disquieting. "May I go with you?" she asked John Westley. He turned to her—something in her face, in her steady eyes, made him feel that if out at Highacres he found what he prayed he might not find—he would need her. "Yes—I want you," he answered simply, wondering a little why, at this distressed moment, he should feel such an absurd sense of comfort in having her with him. They drove away, two long poles and a coil of rope in the tonneau. In the library Isobel sat holding her mother's hand, wishing she could say something that would drive that white look from her mother's face. But her distress left room for the little jealous thought that Uncle Johnny had told her to stay at home and then had taken Barbara Lee! And she wondered, too, if it were she who was lost, and not Gyp, would mother care as much? At that moment Mrs. Westley threw her arms about her and held her very close. "I just must feel you, dear, safe here with me—or I couldn't—stand it—waiting." <hr style='width: 45%;' /> "Jerry! Look! That flash—it comes—and goes!" Gyp's voice, scarcely a whisper, breathed in Jerry's ear. The two girls were huddled in the little window of the tower room. Gyp was almost hysterical; Jerry had had all she wanted of ghosts. Gyp had felt thin fingers grip her elbow, her shoulder—even her ankle. Someone had breathed in her ear. Jerry, too, had admitted that she had heard sounds of irregular breathing from a corner of the room near the secret door. And there had been a constant tap-tapping! And something had laughed—a horrible, thin, ghost laugh, though Jerry said afterwards that it might have been the wind. Gyp had seen white figures floating about outside, too. Uncle Peter had brought spirit-cronies with him! And now the ghostly flash of light—— "Gyp——" Jerry suddenly spoke aloud. "It's a—flashlight! See, someone is swinging it as they walk. Oh——" Inspired to action, Jerry seized a huge book and sent it crashing through the window. "Help! Help!" she screamed, through the broken glass. Startled, Uncle Johnny, Graham, Barbara Lee and the assistant janitor, whom they had aroused, halted. Graham, dropping the coil of rope, pointed excitedly to the tower. "Look—they're in the tower room! Well, I never——" That the tower room and its mysteries should remain under lock and key had been a grievance to Graham. Uncle Johnny shouted to the girls; a great relief, surging through him, made his voice vibrate with joy. And in the light of the electric flash he saw that Barbara Lee's eyes were glistening with something suspiciously like tears. "Now, to rescue the imprisoned maidens," he laughed, turning to the engineer. It took but a few moments for the little party to reach the third floor. Then from above came a plaintive voice. "If you'll just touch George Washington on the left-hand side of the—the frame—he'll move—and——" For a moment, John Westley, staring at the panel, wondered if he were crazy or if Gyp and Jerry—— "We got in—that way," the voice explained. "You can't open the other door! And please hurry—it's dreadfully dark and——" The truth flashed over Graham. "Of all things! A secret door!" he shouted. He put his shoulder to the huge box of books that had been shoved close to the picture, until it could be unpacked. "Give a hand here!" he commanded excitedly. They all obeyed him—even Barbara Lee, next to Uncle Johnny, shoved with all the strength of her muscular arms. And Uncle Johnny commenced to chuckle softly. "The imps," he muttered. "Trapped in their lair." The box well out of the way, Graham pressed the left-hand side of the panel picture and it swung out under his amazed eyes, revealing a white-faced Gyp standing in the narrow aperture, and Jerry close behind. Their big, frightened eyes blinked in the flashlight. Uncle Johnny managed to embrace both at once. He wisely asked no explanations, for he could see that tears were not far away. Barbara Lee hugged them, too, and the assistant janitor, who had a girl of his own and at the suggestion of dragging the lake, had been startled "out of a year's growth" as he said afterwards (though he was six feet tall, then), beamed on them as though he would like to caress them, too. Graham was excitedly swinging the panel back and forth and peering longingly up the dark, narrow stairway. "How'd you find it? Does it open right into the tower room? Were you scared?" he asked. "I'm hungry," declared Gyp. "Let's hear all about it on the way home," suggested Uncle Johnny. "And we'll put George Washington back in place—there's no use letting the entire school know about this." His words were directed to Graham and to the janitor. "Now, my girlies—what in the world have you got?" For Jerry had picked up the huge Bible. "It's a—a letter we found—in the Bible——" "So you brought the whole thing?" Uncle Johnny laughed. "Lead the way, Miss Lee." In the automobile Gyp had to have an explanation of the poles and the rope. When she heard of their fears her face grew troubled. "Oh—how mumsey must have worried!" As the automobile drew up at the curb she sprang from it and rushed into the house, straight into her mother's arms—Mrs. Westley had heard the car stop and had walked with faltering steps to the door. "Mother, I didn't want you to be worried—not for the world! But we couldn't help it." With the girls safe at home the horrible fears that had tortured them all seemed very foolish. The entire family listened with deep interest while Gyp told of that first afternoon when she and Jerry had discovered the secret stairway and of the subsequent meetings of the Ravens in the tower room. "Please, Uncle Johnny, make Isobel and Graham promise they won't tell anybody! It ought to be ours 'cause we found it and we're Westleys," begged Gyp. "Whatever in the world possessed Peter Westley to build a secret stairway in his house?" Mrs. Westley asked John Westley. "Who ever heard of such a thing in this day and age?" "It's not at all surprising when one recalls how persistently he always avoided people. He planned that as a way of escaping from anyone—even the servants. Can't you picture him grinning down from those windows upon departing callers? Doubtless many a time I've walked away myself, after that man of his told me he couldn't be found." "I think it's deliciously romantic," exclaimed Isobel, "and I have just as much right to use it as Gyp has." "My girls—I am afraid the whole matter will have to go to the board of trustees. Remember—Uncle Peter gave Highacres to Lincoln School—we have nothing to say about it." "Wasn't it dark up there?" asked Graham. Gyp looked at Jerry and Jerry looked at Gyp. By some process of mental communication they agreed to say nothing about Uncle Peter's ghost. Back here in the softly-lighted, warm living-room, those weird voices and clammy fingers seemed unreal. However, there was the letter—Gyp reached for the Bible. "We were looking through some books—and we found this." Holding the envelope gingerly between her thumb and forefinger, she handed it to Uncle Johnny. He read the address, turned the envelope over and over in his hand. "How strange—it has never been opened. It's addressed to Robert. I'll give it to you." He handed it to Mrs. Westley. She took it with some of Gyp's reluctance. "It's Uncle Peter's handwriting—but how fresh it looks. It's dated two days before he died, John! I suppose he put it in that Bible and it was never found." She tore the envelope open and spread out the sheets. "It's to both you and Robert—read it." <div class="blockquot">My Dear Nephews: It won't be long before I go over the river, and I'm glad—for I am an old man and I've lived my life and I can't do much more, and I'd better be through with it. But I wish I could live long enough to right a few things that are wrong. I mean things that I've done, especially one thing. Lately there isn't much peace of mind for me. I've tried to find it in the Bible, but though there's a lot about forgiveness I can't figure out what a man ought to do when he's waited almost a lifetime to get it. I've always been hard as rock; I thought a man had to be to make money, but now it all don't seem worth while, for what good is your money when you're old if your conscience is going to torment you? Right now I'd give half I possessed if I could make up to a young fellow for a contemptible wrong I did him. So I'm writing this to ask you to do it for me, and then I guess I'll rest easier—wherever I am. Neither of you knew, I suppose, just what made the Westley Cement Mixer a success; it came near not being one. Back there when we were just starting it up, Craig Winton, a young, smart-looking chap, came to me with a mechanical device he'd invented that he believed we needed in our cement-mixing machine. We did—I knew right off that that invention was what we had to have to make our business a success; without it every cent the other stockholders and myself had put into the thing would be lost. I offered the young fellow a paltry amount, and when he wouldn't accept it, I let him go away. Our engineers worked hard to get his idea, but they couldn't. After a few months he came back. He looked ill and he was shabby and low-spirited. I told him we wouldn't give him a cent more, that I didn't think his invention would help us much, and I let him go away again. The directors were all for paying him any amount, but I told them that if we'd wait he'd come back and as good as give the thing to us or I couldn't read signs, for I'd seen something mighty like desperation in the chap's eyes. Even though the directors talked a lot about failure, I thought the gamble was worth a try, and I made them wait. I was right—young Winton came back, looking more like a wreck than ever, and he took just what I offered him, which was a little less than my first price. And I made him sign a paper waiving all future claims on the patents or the stockholders of the firm. That little invention made all our money. But lately I can't get the fellow's eyes out of my mind—they were queer eyes, glowing like they were lighted, and that last time they had a look in them as though something was dead. I'm too old to face this thing before the world, but I want you to find Craig Winton and give him or his heirs a hundred thousand dollars, which I've figured would be something like his percentage of the profits if I had drawn an honorable contract with him. The time he came to me he lived in Boston. I've always laughed at men that talked about honor in business, but now that I'm looking back from the end of the trail I guess maybe they're right and I've been wrong.... </div> <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <h2>CHAPTER XX</h2> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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