the key to the door at the other end of the tunnel. We can come in from that end.”
“Too late tonight for such things,” Mr. Bond said. “We’ll try it tomorrow in the daylight.”
“Well, if you have the key to this room, can we see what’s in there?” Polly asked.
Mr. Bond took out his keys and fumbling through them came up at last with the key that unlocked the door. The girls stepped ahead of him into the room and looked around in surprise.
There were shelves on three sides of the roomfilled with books. In front of a large stained-glass window was a huge desk with papers strewn about on it. All the shutters were open, letting in the moonlight from outside. On the opposite side of the room was a beautifully carved couch with big soft cushions. On the three sides with shelves there were wall sconces holding candles, as many as could possibly be placed between the rows of books.
Mandie noticed a smaller door in one corner which she tried to open and found locked. The caretaker had no key for it. She also noticed an ashtray with ashes in it on the desk and a pen in a bottle of ink.
“Wonder what your uncle used this room for—a private library?” Polly asked.
“He did his private book work up here,” Mr. Bond told them. “None of the servants are allowed on the third floor.”
“Do you know what’s on the other side of that locked door, Mr. Jason?” Mandie wanted to know.
“Nope, can’t say I remember ever seeing it before. Believe those curtains may have been pulled over it when I’ve been in here, and that’s not been many times.”
“Can we light the candles, Mr. Bond, so we can see how they look all burning at one time?” Polly begged.
Mr. Bond struck a match, lighted one candle, and the one on either side of it automatically burst into flame. He repeated this around the room.
“You see how close they are? That’s what makes ’em all light up magic-like,” the old man told them.
The room was brilliant, and Mandie’s attention was drawn to a paper on top of the pile on the desk.
She picked it up and read aloud, “ ‘March 1st. Dear Brother Jim’—This is to my daddy!—‘I am going on vacation to Europe for the summer and since one never knows what the future on a ship can hold, I would like to make peace with you while I can. I am an old man now, fifteen years older than you, you know, and I have no one to leave my belongings to, except you. I am taking the blame entirely for the disagreement between us all these years. I want you to know that Elizabeth is still in love with you, and she says she will never love anyone else. All that matters to me now is—’ ” Mandie looked up, puzzled. “That’s all; it’s unfinished. Who is Elizabeth?”
Mr. Bond took the paper and read it over again. “I’m afraid I have no idea who Elizabeth is.”
“I wonder why it’s not finished,” Mandie mused.
“Might have been written over again on another piece of paper. See that ink blot?” He showed her a black smear of ink on the paper, which she had not noticed.
“You’re right, Mr. Jason,” Mandie’s blue eyes filled with tears. “I hope my daddy received that letter before he—passed away.”
“He probably did.” Mr. Bond put the paper back on the desk and reached for a long rod.
“What’s that?” Polly wanted to know.
“It’s a snuffer, to put out all these confounded candles,” he said, as he swung it around the room extinguishing each one as he went.
“Imagine doing this every day,” Polly remarked.
“Yeh, and I’m glad I don’t have to,” he said.
Once in her room for the night, with only Polly for company, Mandie studied the paper again, which she had taken from the library. She was glad Polly’s mother had agreed to let her stay with her until her uncle’s missing will was found.
“I hope my daddy got this,” she said again. “I have to find this Elizabeth who loved him.”
“In the meantime, tomorrow we’ll show Mr. Jason the
“Too late tonight for such things,” Mr. Bond said. “We’ll try it tomorrow in the daylight.”
“Well, if you have the key to this room, can we see what’s in there?” Polly asked.
Mr. Bond took out his keys and fumbling through them came up at last with the key that unlocked the door. The girls stepped ahead of him into the room and looked around in surprise.
There were shelves on three sides of the roomfilled with books. In front of a large stained-glass window was a huge desk with papers strewn about on it. All the shutters were open, letting in the moonlight from outside. On the opposite side of the room was a beautifully carved couch with big soft cushions. On the three sides with shelves there were wall sconces holding candles, as many as could possibly be placed between the rows of books.
Mandie noticed a smaller door in one corner which she tried to open and found locked. The caretaker had no key for it. She also noticed an ashtray with ashes in it on the desk and a pen in a bottle of ink.
“Wonder what your uncle used this room for—a private library?” Polly asked.
“He did his private book work up here,” Mr. Bond told them. “None of the servants are allowed on the third floor.”
“Do you know what’s on the other side of that locked door, Mr. Jason?” Mandie wanted to know.
“Nope, can’t say I remember ever seeing it before. Believe those curtains may have been pulled over it when I’ve been in here, and that’s not been many times.”
“Can we light the candles, Mr. Bond, so we can see how they look all burning at one time?” Polly begged.
Mr. Bond struck a match, lighted one candle, and the one on either side of it automatically burst into flame. He repeated this around the room.
“You see how close they are? That’s what makes ’em all light up magic-like,” the old man told them.
The room was brilliant, and Mandie’s attention was drawn to a paper on top of the pile on the desk.
She picked it up and read aloud, “ ‘March 1st. Dear Brother Jim’—This is to my daddy!—‘I am going on vacation to Europe for the summer and since one never knows what the future on a ship can hold, I would like to make peace with you while I can. I am an old man now, fifteen years older than you, you know, and I have no one to leave my belongings to, except you. I am taking the blame entirely for the disagreement between us all these years. I want you to know that Elizabeth is still in love with you, and she says she will never love anyone else. All that matters to me now is—’ ” Mandie looked up, puzzled. “That’s all; it’s unfinished. Who is Elizabeth?”
Mr. Bond took the paper and read it over again. “I’m afraid I have no idea who Elizabeth is.”
“I wonder why it’s not finished,” Mandie mused.
“Might have been written over again on another piece of paper. See that ink blot?” He showed her a black smear of ink on the paper, which she had not noticed.
“You’re right, Mr. Jason,” Mandie’s blue eyes filled with tears. “I hope my daddy received that letter before he—passed away.”
“He probably did.” Mr. Bond put the paper back on the desk and reached for a long rod.
“What’s that?” Polly wanted to know.
“It’s a snuffer, to put out all these confounded candles,” he said, as he swung it around the room extinguishing each one as he went.
“Imagine doing this every day,” Polly remarked.
“Yeh, and I’m glad I don’t have to,” he said.
Once in her room for the night, with only Polly for company, Mandie studied the paper again, which she had taken from the library. She was glad Polly’s mother had agreed to let her stay with her until her uncle’s missing will was found.
“I hope my daddy got this,” she said again. “I have to find this Elizabeth who loved him.”
“In the meantime, tomorrow we’ll show Mr. Jason the
Similar Books
