"Well, he disappeared from some place. He's not here now," insisted the friend of Jim.

Callahan was clearly disgusted. Just when everything seemed to be going well at last, something new had to crop up. What silly persons these men were. Like a bunch of sheep. Because a few not too intelligent Negroes claimed they had seen a ghost, these men, who ought to have more sense, were already showing signs of fright because one of their group could not be found. The contractor pulled his battered gray hat down over one eye and produced a new cigar from an apparently endless supply. Then began the slapping of his pockets for matches. He looked vaguely at Sim as though remembering that she had come to his rescue before, but this time she stared back at him uncomprehending.

Callahan went to the head of the stairs and shouted over the banister.

"Danton!" he called, his powerful voice booming through the house. "Jim Danton!"

But not even an echo answered him and, giving the cigar a vicious bite, he strode over to the window. "Hey, you, Danton, come here!" he shouted, but the result was the same as before.

"Maybe he got sick and started home," timidly suggested Sim in a voice that sounded ridiculously small after the Gargantuan tones of Mr.

Callahan.

"Oh, no, miss," answered the worried worker. "He couldn't go back till the truck came to take him and all of us out the main road. He lives too far. Besides, this job meant a lot to Jim. It's the first work he's had in months."

There was a discontented murmur growing among the men, and Arden could see the man whom t.i.tus Ellery called "Nick" circulating among them and saying something in an insistent low tone. They were talking in a little group near the door of the room while Callahan questioned Jim's particular friend more closely.

Arden stepped to the open door of the closet and peered inside. Then she stooped down, and when she straightened up again she held up a small grimy object.

She turned and faced the awe-struck company, for what she was displaying was a glove such as workmen wear, of a dull white color with a dark-blue knitted band at the wrist.

"That's his glove!" exclaimed the man near Mr. Callahan. "I was with him when he bought the pair. Jim said his hands were soft from not working in so long; he needed gloves."

At this discovery the men who had been talking quietly now showed open revolt. One fellow dropped a crowbar he had been carrying. It fell with a crash and seemed to startle them all into activity.

"Not quitting, are you?" the contractor asked, sneering. "Fine bunch of men, you are!"

"We sure are quitting, Mr. Callahan! We don't mind ghosts; but when a man disappears in broad daylight, that's too much." It was the sinister Nick who spoke. Arden thought he seemed pleased at his announcement.

The men near by shook their heads in agreement, and some put on their coats as they prepared to leave.

The weary Callahan sank helplessly down on a pile of boards and pushed his hat back on his head. This, surely, was the last straw! The men straggled out of the old house. The girls followed them. In a little while the contractor also came out.

CHAPTER XII A Strange Discovery

There appeared to be a spirit of uncertainty among the workmen. They were not like the Negroes and Italians who had previously "seen ghosts." These new workmen were not superst.i.tious. But even they, white-collar-cla.s.s, as they were called, seemed suddenly given to some strange and nerve-racking fear. They wanted to hurry away from the old Hall where such a strange thing had seemingly just happened, but felt they owed a certain allegiance to their missing fellow worker if not to the burly and baffled boss, Callahan.

"I say, fellows," one of the men began, "I wonder if we shouldn't do something about Jim before we leave."

"What can we do?" faltered the man who had dropped the heavy bar.

It was here that Arden Blake saw her opportunity. Stepping forward with a manner and air that her girl friends warmly complimented her about, she called:

"Are you going to leave without trying to find that missing man?"

"But how can we find him?" a voice from the huddled group asked. "He just disappeared. We can't find him. There's nowhere even to look."

"But have you searched?" Arden demanded.

They seemed confused at that straightforward question.

"No," one finally murmured.

"Then come back to the house with me!" insisted Arden. "We girls will go with them, Mr. Callahan," she promised. "We'll have another good look all around. There is nothing in that house to harm anyone. And we don't believe in ghosts, so the man must be found."

"If it comes to a question of ghosts, miss," said a tall, lanky man, "I don't believe in 'em myself. But when a man is s.n.a.t.c.hed away, you might say, right from under your nose, why, that's something different."

"Sure is," his friends muttered.

"Could it not very well be," asked Sim, "that this Jim Danton might have gone to some other part of the house without telling any of you, and have been hurt there?-his hammer may have slipped and hit him on the head, knocking him unconscious. That could have happened."

"And he may be up in one of the old rooms now, injured, suffering," added Terry.

"This certainly is getting interesting, to say the least," spoke Dorothy.

"I must give you girls credit for getting up some good theatrical effects in this mystery. That's quite a mob scene," and she pointed a rather languid finger at the group of workers.

"Don't make fun, Dot," said Terry in a low voice. "This may be serious."

Dot was inclined to be theatrical at the wrong time.

"It is serious," declared Sim.

Arden still held the center of the stage. She felt the need of prompt, effective action.

"Well, let's go make another search," she proposed. "And don't waste time."

"We'll do that with you," said a young fellow. "But Jim didn't go to any isolated room and hit himself on the head with his hammer. In the first place, he didn't have any hammer. He was using a crowbar."

"That's right," came in a murmur, a proper mob-scene murmur, Dorothy thought, though she did not dare mention it.

"And in the second place," went on the same young fellow, "he was in that closet. I saw him go in."

"And n.o.body saw him come out, and there isn't even a rat-hole in that closet yet," declared another. "We haven't started ripping there."

It looked as though the fear and mystery would start all over again. But Arden was not going to give up.

"Let's go have a look," she proposed.

"That's the idea!" boomed Mr. Callahan. He was getting hopeful once more.

"The girls'll put you fellows to shame! Let's all go in."

The Hall was quickly invaded with more persons than it had housed in many a long day. On the two lower floors no work of demolishing the place was visible. The men had first started tearing out the top or fourth floor.

It was from the third floor that Jim Danton had disappeared.

"I wonder how much longer Mrs. Howe is going to leave some of her possessions in here?" said Sim as they reentered the big lower entrance.

"She'll have to be getting it all out pretty soon," threatened the contractor, "or I'll have to set it out for her. I don't want to damage anything of hers and have her sue me, for she's a determined woman, though, in ways, as nice as my own mother. But she sort of feels that she is being cheated. It's none of my doing. She claims this place, and she told me she was going to leave stuff in here to enforce her claim. But it'll have to be got out of here pretty quick now. The men'll soon be down to the second floor. There's hardly any of Mrs. Howe's stuff on the third floor now. She took it away before I began my work this week." He was saying this as they tramped into the echoing old hall.