CHAPTER VI The Unknown Owner

Madge and Cara felt certain their presence in the garden had been noted, but to their relief, the man looked away again. He rested briefly, then picked up his spade and resumed digging.

“Now!” Madge whispered the instant his back had turned.

They moved noiselessly along the vine-covered wall until they were hidden behind the house.

“I surely thought we were caught that time,” Cara said nervously. “What can he be after anyway?”

“I wish I knew. Just our luck to have to rush home at the exciting time! He may not come here again.”

The front gate had been locked with padlock and chain, but the girls found a small opening in the side fence and slipped through. They breathed easier as they emerged on the street. It was after eleven o’clock so they ran nearly all the way to their homes.

Madge did not see her friend the following day which was Sunday. In spite of her vigorous protest, she was herded into a neighbor’s car and taken on a picnic which Mr. and Mrs. Brady had promised to attend earlier in the week. School opened as usual on Monday, but Cara failed to appear, and upon calling at the Wayne home that evening, Madge found her ill in bed with a cold.

“I must have caught it from sitting so long on the ground at the Swenster Mansion,” Cara declared. “I hope you’re not going there again tonight.”

Madge had thought that she might, but with Cara unable to accompany her, it scarcely seemed fair. Then too, the old house at night was not the most pleasant place to be alone. She readily promised her friend the little adventure would be postponed.

Cara came to school the following day but her cold had left her in no mood to expose herself to chilling night air. As several days elapsed, Madge’s own interest in the mansion waned.

And then on Saturday morning as she was walking to the store for a pound of sugar which Mrs. Brady had forgotten to order, she was startled to observe that the front gate of the Swenster Mansion stood ajar.

“That padlock didn’t come off by itself,” she thought alertly.

The temptation to investigate was too great to resist. She paused at the gate and looked inside the grounds. To her further amazement, she saw the front door open and a workman was removing boards from the downstairs windows.

“Good morning!” said a pleasant voice.

Madge jumped. Turning, she saw a middle-aged, white-haired lady, standing by a mock orange bush slightly to the left of the gate. She was regarding Madge with a kindly smile.

“Oh, I beg your pardon,” the latter apologized in embarrassment. “I didn’t know anyone was at home. I—”

“I don’t wonder at your interest in the place,” the lady came quickly to her rescue. “The house has been closed for so many years that it must be a town curiosity. Won’t you come in?”

“Oh, I think not,” Madge murmured, yet aching to do that very thing. “I don’t like to intrude.”

“It will be no intrusion I assure you,” the other responded warmly. “I was wishing only a moment ago that someone would drop in to visit me. I suppose all my old friends are gone by this time.”

She sighed, and Madge saw an expression akin to sorrow cross her face. Immediately she smiled again and opened the gate wider.

“Do come in. The house and grounds are in frightful condition but within a few days I hope to have them in better shape. Perhaps you will help me with suggestions?”

Madge could not resist such an appeal. Actually, she desired nothing more than an opportunity to talk with the woman, perhaps learning what had brought her to Claymore.

“I’d love to come in,” she smiled, passing through the gate, “but I’m not very good at suggestions about gardening. You’re—you’re the owner, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am Agatha Swenster.”

Madge introduced herself. Miss Swenster knew how to place her at ease, and soon she lost all feeling of embarrassment. They wandered slowly about the ruined garden. Mrs. Swenster pointed out various things which she planned to have done.

“It must seem nice to be coming back to your old home,” Madge commented politely.

“Yes, in a way it does. A great many memories are associated with this house—some very pleasant, others less so. Now that I am here again I should like to remain. However, I fear it is impossible. I am merely putting the place in order before I sell it.”

Madge’s face disclosed her disappointment. She could not imagine the old mansion in the hands of a ruthless, modern owner who might tear down the shutters, do away with the old-fashioned garden and relandscape the grounds. It was definitely a house of the past, and Miss Swenster fitted perfectly into the picture.

“I’m not anxious to sell,” the owner confessed, “but I have no choice. I plan to hold an auction sale in a few weeks. The house is furnished with really lovely pieces of furniture. I should like to have you see my dishes sometime before the sale.”

“What a shame to auction off such valued possessions,” Madge said with honest regret. “Aren’t you holding anything back?”

“Very little. You see, I must raise money and this house is all I have left.”

Apparently realizing that she had paraded her personal affairs, Miss Swenster quickly changed the subject. They continued their tour of the garden, pausing near the sundial. Madge ventured to ask if it had been manufactured special for the Swenster Mansion.

“No, we made it ourselves,” she explained. “Father worked out the plans before his death, and an old Negro servant did the actual work later.”

She moved hurriedly on, as though not wishing to dwell upon a subject which brought back unhappy associations.

It had occurred to Madge to speak of the recent excavations which had been going on in the garden but after a moment’s consideration she decided to allow the matter to go unmentioned.

She was eager to learn if the man Miss Swenster had engaged to assist with the outside work was the same person she and Cara had observed during their prior visit to the mansion. As Miss Swenster paused to issue orders in regard to trimming the hedge, she had ample opportunity to study the workman’s face. She was certain he was not the man she had seen digging in the garden.

“The plot thickens,” she thought with quickening interest. “I’ll wager Miss Swenster doesn’t know any more about that digging than I do. Perhaps if I get a little better acquainted, I’ll ask her about it.”

Madge readily accepted an invitation to view the inside of the house. Nothing was in order and dust was everywhere. Miss Swenster lifted several white sheets to disclose that they protected really fine mahogany and oak pieces. She did not offer to show Madge the upstairs.

“You see, I have my work cut out for me,” she smiled. “I must go over everything, sort out the pieces I mean to keep, and get things generally in order before the auction.”

“If you need a woman to help you, I know of an excellent one,” Madge offered. “She did work for Aunt Maude.”

She noticed Miss Swenster’s embarrassed face and realized that she had been tactless.

“I’d like to hire help but I’m afraid I can’t afford it,” Miss Swenster said quietly. “I am quite strong and will be able to manage alone.”

Madge thought Miss Swenster looked frail and scarcely able to do heavy housework. She was tempted to offer her own services gratis but realized that unless she were very diplomatic, Miss Swenster would be certain to refuse.

“I’ll find some way to help her with the work,” she told herself as she departed a few minutes later. “I know Cara will be glad to do what she can too. And if we should happen to learn something pertaining to the lost Swenster pearls—well, there’s no harm in killing two birds with one stone!”