“The silver urn is gone!” Rosemary repeated, as though unable to believe her eyes. “Someone has taken it! And it can never be replaced.”

“It was a family heirloom,” Floretta added morosely. “We’ve had it ever since grandmother died. It was handed down from one generation to another.”

“It was valuable, too,” Rosemary went on. “It was solid silver. We had been offered five hundred dollars for it by a jeweler, but of course we refused the offer. Oh, I can’t bear to lose it!” She sank into a chair and looked as though she were about to cry.

“Perhaps we’ll find it somewhere,” Nancy offered hopefully. “Are you certain it was left in the library?”

“Oh, yes, it was on the top of the bookcase. We’ve kept it there for years.”

“First a spoon, then a pocketbook, next my pin, and now the urn,” Floretta reviewed pessimistically. “It’s too much. I know there’s a ghost in this house.”

“A ghost wouldn’t have needed a chair to reach the top of the bookcase,” Nancy commented dryly.

“That’s so,” Rosemary agreed. “The chair is pushed up against the bookcase! But how did the thief get into the house?”

“If we knew the answer to that question, I think the mystery would be solved,” Nancy returned. “Were the doors all locked last night before you went to bed?”

“Oh, yes, I was very careful.”

“And the windows?”

“All bolted.”

“I can’t understand it,” Nancy murmured, perplexed.

She examined the room as carefully as she could in the dim light but was unable to find any additional traces of the midnight prowler.

“The thief seems to have vanished into thin air,” she said at last. “I don’t believe there is any use to search tonight. We may as well go back to bed.”

“I couldn’t sleep a wink,” Floretta interposed. “I am going to sit up the rest of the night.”

“So am I,” Rosemary added.

“Then we may as well bring our blankets down here,” Nancy declared. “I don’t think the thief will return tonight, but at least we can be prepared.”

Accordingly, the three settled themselves in comfortable chairs, and spent the remainder of the night snugly wrapped in warm blankets. Nancy and Rosemary occasionally dozed off into a light slumber, but Floretta was too nervous to permit herself to go to sleep. Although the light was burning, her eyes continually roved about the room, fearfully searching the darker corners.

At the first indication of dawn, Rosemary, with Nancy assisting her, prepared breakfast. Hot coffee went a long way toward reviving the spirits of the trio. And with the rising of the sun, the old house seemed less oppressive and fearful.

As soon as breakfast was over, Nancy set herself to the task of going over the library minutely. She examined the walls inch by inch, but found no indication of a secret panel. With Rosemary’s help, she even moved the heavy bookcase, but there was nothing behind it. The furniture occupied but little of her time, for with the exception of a built-in sofa similar to the one in the drawing room, it was all very ordinary and offered no possibility of a hiding place. Nancy did examine the bookcase and the chairs for fingerprints, but her search was not rewarded. There was not a single clue which pointed to the identity of the thief.

Nor was the missing urn found anywhere in the place. All day Nancy searched, but in vain. She was bitterly disappointed, for she had hoped to be able to help Rosemary and Floretta. The ordeal of the night had frightened them a great deal, and they began to talk seriously of leaving the house at the end of the week.

“It will be better to close it up than to endure another week like the past one,” Rosemary admitted. “I don’t like to be driven away, but I see no other way.”

Nancy said nothing, but mentally resolved that she would never leave The Mansion until she had solved the mystery. When her father arrived on his way home from Chicago, she would tell him everything and turn the case over to him.

The next two days and nights were uneventful, greatly to the surprise of everyone. Rosemary and Floretta began to show the effects of the strain under which they labored.

“I declare, I’d almost as soon something would happen as to keep thinking it’s going to every minute,” Rosemary sighed.

With the passing of the days, Nancy Drew became quiet and thoughtful. She had a new worry which she did not communicate to the Turnbull sisters.

When her father had left for Chicago he had promised that he would return within a week and that he would send her a telegram stating the exact hour he expected to arrive in Cliffwood. For several days Nancy had been anxiously looking for the message, but it had not arrived. Why had her father failed to keep his promise?

“It’s possible Dad didn’t get his business accomplished as quickly as he expected,” she assured herself. “I’ll probably get the telegram tomorrow.”

But the expected message did not arrive on the following day, and now Nancy began to worry in earnest. Surely, her father would have wired her if he had been delayed, she told herself. What could have happened?

“Perhaps he decided not to stop at Cliffwood, and went on to River Heights,” she reasoned.

Glancing at the calendar she saw that it was a full week since her father had left home. By this time she had expected to return to River Heights herself, and she had asked Hannah to open the house before her arrival.

“If only there were a telephone here,” she fretted. “I could call home and find out if Dad is there yet.”

The more she thought of it, the more anxious she became, and at last, to relieve her mind, she decided to drive to Cliffwood and make the telephone call. This intention she communicated to Rosemary and Floretta.

“You’ll not be gone long, will you?” Rosemary questioned anxiously. “We’ve decided not to stay in this house another night alone. When you leave, we’re going too.”

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Nancy promised. “I only want to make a telephone call.”

“I’m sorry we haven’t one here,” Rosemary apologized. “It’s so much bother to go into Cliffwood.”

“I really don’t mind at all. I’ll enjoy the ride.”

As Nancy left The Mansion behind, she breathed more freely. There was something about the place that was oppressive. She drove rapidly and soon reached the main part of Cliffwood. Entering a corner drug store, she telephoned to her own home. After a short wait, Hannah Gruen answered.

“Is my father home yet?” Nancy asked, after a few preliminary remarks.

“No, I haven’t heard from him since he left,” came the response.

Nancy hung up the receiver and leaned against the side of the telephone booth. What could it mean? Why had her father failed to notify anyone of his change of plans? It was not at all like him.

“I have a notion to telegraph to Chicago and find out if he has left there,” she thought. “I believe I have the address of the firm he went to see.”

Opening her purse, she fished about and after pulling out several wrong cards, found the one for which she was searching.

“Now to find a telegraph office,” she decided, as she left the drug store.

She found one only a few doors away, and, having entered, wrote out a brief message and handed it to the clerk at the desk.

“When the answer comes have it sent to the Turnbull Mansion,” she told the man.

After paying the charges, she left the office and slowly made her way back to the roadster.

“Now, back to the haunted house,” she told herself grimly. “I’m beginning to feel that I’ll never solve the mystery by myself. I’ll be glad when Dad gets here so he can help me.”

As she approached The Mansion, Nancy’s attention was attracted to another stone house only a short distance away. In general appearance it bore a striking resemblance to The Mansion.

“I wonder who lives there?” she thought. “I must inquire when I get back to The Mansion.”

However, for the time being, Nancy was too troubled about her father to devote much thought to the mystery of the old house, and before she reached The Mansion she had forgotten the question she had intended to ask.

The evenings at The Mansion were all alike. Dinner was served at seven o’clock in the big, gloomy dining room, and after that the three adjourned to the drawing room. There was no radio and no evening paper. With the deepening of the shadows, the conversation became stilted and difficult. By nine o’clock everyone was glad of the opportunity to retire.

All afternoon Nancy had waited hopefully for an answer to her telegram, but it had not arrived. She would have made another trip to the telegraph office in the evening, but she knew that Rosemary and Floretta would be afraid to stay in the house alone.

At nine o’clock Nancy went to her room, but she did not fall asleep for hours.

“I have the strangest feeling,” she thought. “It’s just as though something had happened to Dad. Of course it’s silly of me!”

But try as she would, she could not free herself of the conviction, and when she arose in the morning it was still with her. She ate very little for breakfast, but her lack of appetite passed unnoticed by the Turnbull sisters. As she was about to leave the table, there came a ring of the front doorbell.

Rosemary and Floretta exchanged frightened glances.

“Who⁠—who can it be, do you suppose?” Floretta stammered.

“I’ll go,” Nancy said quickly. “I think it must be for me.”

She left the dining room and hastened to open the front door. As she had expected, it was a uniformed messenger boy.

“Telegram for Nancy Drew,” he said curtly.

“I am Miss Drew.”

“Then sign here.”

Nancy complied with the request and eagerly accepted the yellow envelope. As she tore open the flap and scanned the message a frightened look came over her face. The telegram had been sent by the law firm in Chicago and confirmed her worst fears.

The message read:

“Carson Drew left here two days ago.”