“You buried a box for her once, didn’t you?”
“No, sir, I never buried naught for her. What should she want to bury a box for?”
Tommy shook his head. He strolled back to the house frowning.
It was to be hoped that a study of the old lady’s papers would yield some clue—otherwise the problem was a hard one to solve. The house itself was old fashioned, but not old enough to contain a secret room or passage.
Before leaving, Monica brought them down a big cardboard box, tied with string.
“I’ve collected all the papers,” she whispered. “And they’re in here. I thought you could take it away with you, and then you’ll have plenty of time to go over them—but I’m sure you won’t find anything to throw light on the mysterious happenings in this house—”
Her words were interrupted by a terrific crash overhead.
Tommy ran quickly up the stairs.
A jug and basin in one of the front rooms was lying on the ground broken to pieces. There was no one in the room.
“The ghost up to its tricks again,” he murmured with a grin.
He went downstairs again thoughtfully.
“I wonder, Miss Deane, if I might speak to the maid, Crockett, for a minute.”
“Certainly. I will ask her to come to you.”