The Abandoned Room. Camp Wadsworth

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       Wadsworth Camp

      The Abandoned Room

      Published by Good Press, 2019

       [email protected]

      EAN 4057664645289

Table of Contents

       THE ABANDONED ROOM

       CHAPTER I

       CHAPTER II

       CHAPTER III

       CHAPTER IV

       CHAPTER V

       CHAPTER VI

       CHAPTER VII

       CHAPTER VIII

       CHAPTER IX

       CHAPTER X

      CHAPTER

      I. KATHERINE HEARS THE SLY STEP OF DEATH AT THE CEDARS

      II. THE CASE AGAINST BOBBY

      III. HOWELLS DELIVERS HIMSELF TO THE ABANDONED ROOM

      IV. A STRANGE LIGHT APPEARS AT THE DESERTED HOUSE

      V. THE CRYING THROUGH THE WOODS

      VI. THE ONE WHO CREPT IN THE PRIVATE STAIRCASE

      VII. THE AMAZING MEETING IN THE SHADOWS OF THE OLD COURTYARD

      VII. WHAT HAPPENED AT THE GRAVE

      IX. BOBBY'S VIGIL IN THE ABANDONED ROOM

      X. THE CEDARS IS LEFT TO ITS SHADOWS

      THE ABANDONED ROOM

       Table of Contents

CHAPTER I

       Table of Contents

      KATHERINE HEARS THE SLY STEP OF DEATH AT THE CEDARS

      The night of his grandfather's mysterious death at the Cedars, Bobby Blackburn was, at least until midnight, in New York. He was held there by the unhealthy habits and companionships which recently had angered his grandfather to the point of threatening a disciplinary change in his will. As a consequence he drifted into that strange adventure which later was to surround him with dark shadows and overwhelming doubts.

      Before following Bobby through his black experience, however, it is better to know what happened at the Cedars where his cousin, Katherine Perrine was, except for the servants, alone with old Silas Blackburn who seemed apprehensive of some sly approach of disaster.

      At twenty Katherine was too young, too light-hearted for this care of her uncle in which she had persisted as an antidote for Bobby's shortcomings. She was never in harmony with the mouldy house or its surroundings, bleak, deserted, unfriendly to content.

      Bobby and she had frequently urged the old man to give it up, to move, as it were, into the light. He had always answered angrily that his ancestors had lived there since before the Revolution, and that what had been good enough for them was good enough for him. So that night Katherine had to hear alone the sly stalking of death in the house. She told it all to Bobby the next day—what happened, her emotions, the impression made on her by the people who came when it was too late to save Silas Blackburn.

      She said, then, that the old man had behaved oddly for several days, as if he were afraid. That night he ate practically no dinner. He couldn't keep still. He wandered from room to room, his tired eyes apparently seeking. Several times she spoke to him.

      "What is the matter, Uncle? What worries you?"

      He grumbled unintelligibly or failed to answer at all.

      She went into the library and tried to read, but the late fall wind swirled mournfully about the house and beat down the chimney, causing the fire to cast disturbing shadows across the walls. Her loneliness, and her nervousness, grew sharper. The restless, shuffling footsteps stimulated her imagination. Perhaps a mental breakdown was responsible for this alteration. She was tempted to ring for Jenkins, the butler, to share her vigil; or for one of the two women servants, now far at the back of the house.

      "And Bobby," she said to herself, "or somebody will have to come out here to-morrow to help."

      But Silas Blackburn shuffled in just then, and she was a trifle ashamed as she studied him standing with his back to the fire, glaring around the room, fumbling with hands that shook in his pocket for his pipe and some loose tobacco. It was unjust to be afraid of him. There was no question. The man himself was afraid—terribly afraid.

      His fingers trembled so much that he had difficulty lighting his pipe. His heavy brows, gray like his beard, contracted in a frown. His voice quavered unexpectedly. He spoke of his grandson:

      "Bobby! Damned waster! God knows what he'll do next."

      "He's young, Uncle Silas, and too popular."

      He brushed aside her customary defence. As he continued speaking she noticed that always his voice shook as his fingers shook, as his stooped shoulders jerked spasmodically.

      "I ordered Mr. Robert here to-night. Not a word from him. I'd made up my mind anyway. My lawyer's coming in the morning. My money goes to the Bedford Foundation—all except a little annuity for you, Katy. It's hard on you, but I've got no faith left in my flesh and blood."

      His voice choked with a sentiment a little repulsive in view of his ruthless nature, his unbending egotism.

      "It's sad, Katy, to grow old with nobody caring for you except to covet your money."

      She arose and went close to him. He drew back, startled.

      "You're not fair, Uncle."

      With an unexpected movement, nearly savage, he pushed her aside and started for the door.

      "Uncle!" she cried. "Tell me! You must tell me! What makes you afraid?"

      He turned at the door. He didn't answer. She laughed feverishly.

      "It—it's not Bobby you're afraid of?"

      "You and Bobby," he grumbled, "are thicker than thieves."

      She shook her head.

      "Bobby and I," she said wistfully, "aren't very good friends, largely because of this life he's leading."

      He went on out of the room, mumbling again incoherently.

      She resumed her vigil, unable to read because of her misgivings, staring at the fire, starting at a harsher gust