10 Password to Larkspur Lane
CHAPTER VI Mysterious Morgan
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CHAPTER VI
Mysterious Morgan HELEN seized Nancy’s arm as the eerie blue circle of fire moved toward them through the woods. Nancy squeezed her friend’s hand reassuringly, though she herself was not certain that the ring meant harm to them. Closer and closer it came. Suddenly Helen could stand the suspense no longer and gave a shrill scream. Instantly the circle vanished! Nancy darted to the place it had been, but now nothing was there. She tried to peer through the darkness, but the night seemed blacker than ever. At the same time, she could hear Jim shouting for Helen and running toward them. “What’s the matter?” he panted. “That weird fire was coming at us,” said Helen. “I lost my head and screamed. I’m sorry, Nancy,” she added. “It spoiled your chance to find out what the thing was.” “Never mind. I’ll see it again, I’m sure.” 26 Back in the house, the Comings met the three with a flood of anxious questions. They had heard Helen scream and were badly shaken. Quietly Nancy explained what had happened. “I’ll ring for Morgan,” said Helen’s grandmother. “I think we could all do with a cup of tea to settle our nerves.” She pushed a button on the low table beside her. Five minutes later the houseman had not yet appeared. “I’ll go for him, Gram,” Jim offered, but returned to report that he could not find the servant. “I looked everywhere, including his room.” “Perhaps he went outside to investigate the blue fire,” Nancy suggested. “I think we ought to search the woods for him.” “I went out and called,” said Jim, “but got no answer.” The elder Comings exchanged worried glances. “Never mind, Gram,” said Helen. “I’ll make the tea. You tell Nancy the rest of the story.” “It was two weeks ago,” said Mrs. Corning, “that we first saw the circle of fire. And it was exactly two weeks ago that Morgan changed.” “How do you mean?” Nancy asked. “He used to be such a cheerful fellow,” she replied, “always ready with a little joke. Nothing we asked was ever too much trouble. I can’t tell you what a tower of strength he has been. Over the years he has become like a member of the family. But now—he’s a stranger.” “He forgets things,” said Mr. Corning. “Sometimes we ring and he doesn’t come. Afterward, he mumbles a flimsy excuse.” “Several times I heard noises at night on the first floor,” said Mrs. Corning. “I came down and found Morgan wandering around, fully dressed, with a strange, frightened look on his face. We’ve asked him a number of times to tell us what’s the matter, but he avoids answering.” “How long have you known him?” Nancy asked. “Fifteen years,” replied her host. “He came to us with excellent references. And now I don’t know what we would do without him.” “Perhaps he needs medical help,” Nancy suggested. “Maybe he does,” said Mrs. Corning, “but I feel sure the reason for his trouble is the blue fire.” She arose, went to a modern-looking desk, and returned with an envelope. From it she took a folded card. 27 “On the morning of the day the fire first appeared,” said Mrs. Corning, “a letter came in the mail for Morgan. A little later when I went to the kitchen, he was sitting in a chair, very pale, with his hand on his heart. The open envelope was on the table but the card had dropped to the floor. As I picked it up, I couldn’t help noticing it was an ordinary greeting card.” “Did you see a signature?” Nancy asked. Helen’s grandmother shook her head. Mr. Corning explained that they had called a doctor, who said Morgan had suffered a bad shock. But the houseman would answer no questions. “That afternoon,” Mrs. Corning went on, “I called a taxi and went to the little shopping center across the lake. I found a duplicate of the card there. I wanted to get a close look at it.” She handed the card to Nancy. On the front of the card was the picture of an attractive cottage with the door wide open. Above it were the words “OPEN THE WAY TO FRIENDSHIP.” The inside was blank. “Did you see any marks on the original?” “None. It was exactly like this one—just an innocent card.” “Not so innocent, I’m afraid,” said Nancy. “It had no signature and that makes me think the card was a message from someone Morgan knows and probably fears. Have you reported any of these happenings to the police?” Mr. Corning sighed. “We discussed doing so, but Morgan begged us not to. I thought he might have another attack if we did. No, Nancy, we’d like to get to the bottom of the matter quietly.” Helen returned with the tea wagon. As Mrs. Corning poured, she suggested that the young people stay overnight. “To tell the truth, we’d feel better with you here.” They agreed and Nancy went to call her father. Before retiring, she asked, “Have any of the lake residents seen the blue fire?” “There is only one other house near ours,” Mr. Corning replied, “but it’s empty. Folks across the lake don’t bother about what goes on here.” Jim spoke up. “Gram said Morgan often disappears for a while after the blue fire is seen. He probably spots it from his room, which is at the end of the house and faces the lake.” “I imagine he’s back by now,” said Mrs. Corning. “I’ll check after I show you to your rooms.” She led the three guests into the hall and up a spiral staircase. Nancy was given a room which had a full view of the lake. 28 “There are several pairs of new pajamas in the dresser,” Mrs. Corning told her. “Help yourself.” Nancy waited until her hostess had checked on Morgan. He had not returned! As the young sleuth got ready for bed, she wondered where the mysterious houseman had gone. In the morning, when she followed Helen and Jim to the dining room, Nancy found Mrs. Corning setting the table while her husband watched, white-faced, from a chair. Morgan was still missing! “His bed hasn’t been slept in,” said Helen’s grandmother, “and our car hasn’t been used.” “He might be lying hurt in the woods,” Nancy suggested. “We’d better search.” The three young people hurried toward the front door. But as Jim reached to open it, Nancy exclaimed, “Wait!” Sticking out from under the door was a piece of white paper. She picked up the paper and unfolded it. It contained a message written in pencil. Nancy read it aloud: “ ‘Don’t worry about me. Have to be away for a while. Don’t call police. Will explain later.’ ” It was signed “Morgan.” “He must have slipped this under the door late last night,” said Nancy. The three returned to the dining room and Nancy showed the note to Mrs. Corning. “Yes,” she said, “that is Morgan’s handwriting.” “Gramp, I think you should call the police,” said Helen. Her grandfather shook his head. “For the present, we’ll do as Morgan asks.” “Of course, we can get along without him for a day or two,” said Mrs. Corning, “but I’d feel safer if someone were here at night.” “I wish I could be here,” said Helen, “but—” “No, no,” her grandmother said firmly. “Your place is with your husband.” “Perhaps Nancy could stay,” Helen suggested. “Would you?” she asked her friend. “I’d love to,” said Nancy, “but you know I am also working on another case.” Mrs. Corning smiled. “This could be your headquarters for both.” Suddenly she frowned. “But I don’t like to think of you working on this case alone. It might be dangerous.” 29 “Maybe Bess and George could come,” Helen said eagerly. “You three could have lots of fun here when you’re not working on your mysteries.” “I’ll see what Dad says,” Nancy promised. “Anyhow, I’ll come back tonight. I’d like another chance to catch whoever is responsible for that ring of blue fire.” After breakfast she walked down the hill to where she and Helen had seen the strange phenomenon the night before. Here and there she found singed twigs and leaves, but had no time to look for other clues. Jim was waiting with the car. When Nancy entered her own house a little later, she found Effie whistling cheerfully in the kitchen. Her hair was topped by a pink bow. “Oh, hello, Nancy! Your father’s gone already, but he said to tell you he’d see you tonight. Your friend Bess called. She and George are back. They want you to phone them right away.” Just then the back doorbell rang. Nancy turned to see a small boy outside the screen. “Hello, Johnny,” she said, walking over to him. “Hi, Nancy!” he said. “What’s in that box in your back yard?” Effie cut in quickly, “A pigeon. And don’t you touch it!” The girl explained to Nancy that she had taken the pigeon’s box from the garage and placed it in the yard. I put on a lid with holes in it. Now he can get air and a little sunlight.” “I peeped through a hole,” said Johnny, “and I saw something move. Is it a bird? I like birds. My Mommy has a parakeet. Oh, Nancy, can I have some cookies?” Nancy laughed and gave him the last one in the jar. “That’s all.” “It’s okay. I’ll go play with your bird.” “No, no,” Nancy said quickly. “Leave the bird alone. I don’t want it to fly away.” The telephone rang and Nancy went to answer it. The caller wanted the library. “I’m sorry,” Nancy said, “you have the wrong—” She broke off as Effie’s shrill cry sounded from the kitchen. “Help, Nancy! The bird is loose!” With a gasp of alarm, Nancy hung up the phone and dashed for the kitchen. Effie was standing at the back door, wringing her hands. Outside, Johnny was squatting beside the box, holding the lid in his hand. The pigeon was looking over the edge. 30 “Don’t move, Johnny!” Nancy called, and hurried out with Effie behind her. “He wants to fly,” the little boy said. “He flaps his wings like anything. See?” The bewildered bird hopped to the edge of the box and sat there, balancing and stretching. “Stay still, Johnny!” Nancy warned. “Don’t frighten it!” “He isn’t scared of me,” the boy answered confidently. “He likes me. See?” Johnny’s chubby little hands swooped toward the bird. Alarmed, the pigeon flapped its wings, rose awkwardly into the air, and landed just out of reach on a kitchen window sill. “Oh dear!” said Nancy hardly daring to breathe. “We must get it down.” Effie was already dragging a light lawn chair to the window. “I’ll get him for you.” “Wait! That won’t hold you.” Before Nancy could stop her, Effie leaped onto the chair seat and reached for the sill. Nancy grabbed for the chair. Too late! It |