The secret of the Mansion

someone up at the Mansion," he whispered, "and I think there’s a car parked down at the foot of the driveway."
    Trixie sucked in her breath. In the bright moonlight, she could distinctly see the head and shoulders of a man rising above the thicket. He was moving slowly and stealthily across the clearing, like a cat stalking its prey, and she felt a little shiver run up and down her spine.
    "I’m sure glad we talked you into staying down at our place, Jim," she whispered. "That man’s no reporter. You can almost feel how evil he is from here." Trixie heard Honey gasp and felt the pressure of her arm. "Let’s go tell Regan," Honey begged. "We ought to stay at our house tonight, Trixie. I wouldn’t dare go down into the hollow with that man’s car parked so near your driveway."
    "Honey’s right," Jim interrupted. "You girls go back to the Manor House. I’m going to creep through the woods and see who that man is. If it’s who I think it is—
    "Jonesy!" Trixie broke in excitedly. "You think it’s Jonesy, don’t you, Jim?"
    He was standing in the long black shadow of an evergreen, but Trixie could see him nod his head. "He may have seen the New York papers this afternoon and driven right down the river after me. But I can’t be sure until I get closer." He started off on the path that led through the woods to the Mansion, walking carefully and silently over the pine needles.
    "Wait for me," Trixie cried impulsively. "If he should try to hurt you, I could hit him over the head with something. Don’t go without me, Jim!"
    "Okay." Reluctantly, Jim waited for her to catch up. "But don’t step on a twig or make any noise that would warn him. I just want to see what he’s up to."
    "I’m coming, too," Honey said suddenly. "If things get bad, I can at least scream loud enough for Regan to hear us."
    It took them much longer to walk along the trail than it had when they rode on horseback, and Trixie thought they would never reach the thicket around the clearing. Neither she nor Honey was as used to stalking in the woods as Jim was, and every time their feet disturbed a branch or a pebble, Trixie’s heart momentarily stopped beating. Suppose Jonesy heard them and was waiting for them on the other side of the hedge? Suppose he had that big black whip in his hand that Jim often dreamed about? Maybe this was what Honey’s nightmare and her frightening premonitions were all about.
    At last, Jim pushed ahead of them through the thick vines and underbrush, and they crouched behind him, hardly daring to breathe. There was no sign of anyone in the clearing, and then they heard the faint crunch of gravel, and Trixie saw a thin, stoop-shouldered man coming around from the other side of the house.
    "It’s Jonesy, all right," Jim said, his mouth close to Trixie’s ear.
    The man peered through one of the front windows, and, as he turned away in the bright moonlight, Trixie thought she had never seen such a mean-looking face before. His thin lips were drawn back over yellow, protruding teeth; his eyes glittered cruelly. Long, muscular arms swung apelike from his broad, bent shoulders; and she shuddered as she watched his thick, twisted fingers light the cigarette which dangled from one comer of his ugly mouth. He moved along very stealthily, keeping close to the shadows of the house, and stopped suddenly beside the open living-room window. Trixie was sure she was going to hiccup or cough or sneeze as Jonesy hesitated for a moment, looking over one shoulder right at the spot where they were hiding. Then, with one more backward look, he silently swung over the windowsill.
    She could feel her breath hissing through her teeth as she crouched there, watching the glow of the cigarette as the man moved from room to room.
    "My mug," Jim whispered desperately. "It’s sitting right there on the mantel, and the Bible with the will inside is just beside it! Those catlike eyes of his will see them in the dark. He’ll see everything!"
    Oh, gosh, Trixie thought remorsefully. Why did we forget to bring them down this afternoon? She uttered a prayer of thanks that she had had the presence of mind to slam the big oil painting in the dining room against the wall.
    "Sh-h," Honey cautioned. "He’s put out his cigarette. Now we won’t know where he is."
    In a minute or two, the broad, stooped shoulders of the man were silhouetted against the open window. He glanced cautiously around the clearing, then climbed out and thoughtfully stared up