With the passing days, nothing more was heard of Nathan Gombet, and Nancy Drew began to grow easier in her mind. After all, his threat had been nothing more than bluff, she assured herself. Probably she would never see him again.

But as she became less vigilant, she could not know that Nathan Gombet was plotting revenge. Happy in her false security, Nancy forgot about the man and turned her thoughts into more pleasant channels.

“I believe I’ll call on Abigail Rowen this afternoon,” she told her father one day at the luncheon table. “I haven’t seen her for months and I’m curious to know how she is getting along.”

“You’ll be back before dark?”

“Oh, yes, I’ll be gone only a few hours.”

As soon as luncheon was over, Nancy backed her blue roadster from the double garage and set off for Abigail Rowen’s cottage, which was several miles from River Heights.

Approaching the house, she was pleased to observe that there had been many changes in the last few months. The former description of the place, “the worst looking house on the road,” no longer applied.

The cottage had received a fresh coat of white paint and the shutters were a gay green. The old picket fence had been torn entirely away, as had the old plank walk which led to the house. In its place there was a new one of concrete. The yard was well kept, and at the rear of the cottage Nancy saw a man working in a vegetable garden.

“I hope I’ll find Abigail well,” she thought, as she parked her roadster and walked toward the house.

She rapped firmly upon the door. As she waited for someone to answer the knock she could not help but recall the first time she had called upon Abigail Rowen. The old woman had been confined to her bed with injuries received from a bad fall, and Nancy had found her in a deplorable condition. There was little food or money with which to buy it, and Abigail had firmly refused medical attention because she could not pay for it.

It was through Nancy’s instigation that she had received her inheritance from the Crowley estate and she had wisely devoted a portion of the money to medical service.

Nancy’s thoughts were cut short as the door was opened by an old woman in a black silk dress. It was Abigail Rowen, and she beamed when she saw her visitor.

“Well, I declare, if it isn’t Nancy Drew!” she exclaimed, with evident pleasure. “Do come in and sit a spell.”

“How is your hip now?” Nancy inquired solicitously, as she followed Miss Rowen.

“It ain’t hurt me for going on two months now. I still limp a bit, but the doctor says I’ll soon get over that.”

“You’re looking much better than when I saw you last.”

“And I’m feeling better too. Things looked mighty black for a while and I didn’t much care whether I lived or died. I owe everything to you.”

“Oh, not at all,” Nancy said quickly.

As she entered the living room she saw that Abigail had another visitor.

“Rosemary, we were just speaking about Nancy Drew,” Miss Rowen said by way of introduction. “Well, here she is. One of the finest girls you ever set eyes on.” The old woman turned to Nancy. “I want you to meet my friend, Rosemary Turnbull. She came over from Cliffwood to see me today.”

Graciously, Nancy acknowledged the introduction. Rosemary Turnbull was an elderly maiden lady, tall and a trifle too thin, but not at all severe-looking in spite of her clothing. She wore an old-fashioned dress, long and wide of skirt and high in the neck, but she had a kind face, and Nancy was instantly attracted to her.

“Nancy is just the girl to help you out of your difficulties, Rosemary,” Abigail said significantly. “She helped me get my inheritance and I know she’ll help you if you ask her.”

“Certainly, I’ll help anyone I can,” Nancy agreed pleasantly. “What is it?”

“Well, I hardly know how to tell you,” Rosemary Turnbull began. She laughed unsteadily. “It seems I’m living in a haunted house.”

“A haunted house?” Nancy cried.

“Well, of course it isn’t really haunted. I don’t believe in ghosts and things like that.” She lowered her voice. “But the strangest things have been happening lately.”

“What sort of things?” Nancy asked, with interest.

“Mostly little things. But after a while they get on your nerves. You see, I live in an old stone house in Cliffwood⁠—”

“Alone?” Nancy interrupted.

“Oh, no. My twin sister Floretta lives with me. Our house, which is generally known as The Mansion, was built before civil war time, so you can imagine how old it is.” She laughed nervously. “A wonderful setting for a ghost story, isn’t it?”

“Go on,” Nancy begged.

“Floretta and I have lived there for thirty years and we’ve never been disturbed until recently. Just the last few weeks things have happened which we can’t explain. We hear strange noises at night.”

“In the attic?”

“Not exactly. We hear sounds in all parts of the house.”

“You’re sure it isn’t mice?”

“Oh, mercy, it couldn’t be mice or rats.” Rosemary was horrified at the thought. “Floretta and I are very particular about anything like that. There isn’t a mouse in our house.”

“Tell her about the flies,” Abigail prompted.

“Our house is just filled with them now,” Rosemary declared. “And until lately we never had them at all. I can’t understand it.”

“So far your trouble doesn’t sound very alarming,” and Nancy smiled. “Probably there is a screen off some place.”

Rosemary shook her head firmly.

“We thought the same, so we made a thorough inspection. And we’re very particular to keep the doors and windows closed.”

“Tell her about the shadows,” Abigail encouraged.

“We see strange shadows on the walls,” Rosemary went on. A note of fear had crept into her voice now.

“What sort of shadows?”

“Floretta thought she saw a human shadow one night. She’s beginning to think the place is haunted. I don’t put any stock in that theory, but I’ll admit things are beginning to get on my nerves.”

“That would be enough to get on anyone’s nerves.” Nancy was sympathetic.

“And music! One night only last week I distinctly heard someone playing on a stringed instrument. It was enough to set my teeth on edge. Floretta says she’ll be a nervous wreck if she stays in the house another week. She didn’t want me to leave her alone even for a few hours this afternoon. She wants me to consent to sell the house.”

“And you don’t wish to do that?”

“No. The Mansion has been in the Turnbull family for decades and you can’t blame me for not wanting to turn it over to a stranger. I don’t take much stock in ghosts and the like. I can’t believe the house is haunted.”

“Tell her about the spoon,” Abigail prompted.

“There isn’t anything particular to tell. One morning we found a silver spoon missing.”

“Are you sure it couldn’t have been misplaced?” Nancy inquired.

“Floretta and I searched everywhere. We didn’t think so much about it until we missed the pocketbook.”

“You lost a pocketbook, too?”

“Yes. Only yesterday morning we discovered a purse was missing.”

“This begins to look serious. Was there anything of value in it?”

“Nothing except a little money. Eight dollars and fourteen cents, as I remember.”

“You keep no servants?”

“Floretta and I have done our own work for years. We have a man to take care of the yard.”

“How long has he been in your employ?”

“Oh, for eight or ten years. He’s perfectly honest. We know he wouldn’t touch a thing.”

“Have you noticed any prowlers about the house?” Nancy questioned next.

“No, I’ve seen no one except an old organ grinder, and you couldn’t class him as a prowler.”

“Still, his monkey might have climbed in a window and taken the articles,” Nancy suggested.

“I only noticed the organ grinder around two days, and it wasn’t on those days that we missed things. Anyway, all of the windows are screened.”

“Then that theory won’t work,” Nancy said, with a troubled frown.

“And it doesn’t explain the strange shadows on the walls at night,” Rosemary added.

“No. I’m afraid we must look for another explanation.”

“I’m more troubled about the shadows than anything else. It’s getting to a point where I don’t feel safe to sleep in my own bed. I don’t know where it will all end. Floretta says she won’t stay in the house another week if things go on as they have been, and I can’t say that I blame her. If only something could be done before it’s too late!”

“Nancy will help you,” Abigail Rowen declared confidently.

“You will, won’t you?” Rosemary pleaded.

“I don’t know whether I can or not,” Nancy said doubtfully. “I’m tremendously interested in your story and I’d like to visit The Mansion some time.”

“Oh, when can you come?” Rosemary asked eagerly. “The sooner the better.”

Nancy Drew glanced thoughtfully at the watch on her wrist.

“I have my roadster outside. If you wish, I could drive you to your home now and stop there before returning to River Heights.”

“Oh, if you only will! Floretta will be so grateful! I don’t like to give up the house, but things are becoming unbearable. I am sure you can help us.”

“I’ll do my best to solve the mystery,” Nancy smiled as she arose from her chair. “But I’m not in the least confident. I have a suspicion that your ghost isn’t going to be very easy to capture.”