ed sharply, halting in front of Ruth.

"I--I don't know. I--I wasn't here. I was at the foot of the garret
stairs when I heard that terrible crash."

The dust, slowly settling, gave them a clearer view of the attic.
Barbara Thurston was not in sight.

"What has become of Bab? Why don't you look behind the chests?"
demanded Mollie, gathering up her skirts, darting here and there,
kicking aside the heaps of old clothing that had been turned out on the
floor.

Mollie paused with a dazed look in her eyes.

"She's gone," whispered the girl.

"Yes, she's gone, all right," answered Tom. "I know what she has done.
She's played a trick on all of you. I know her. She is a sharp one.
She'd catch you napping when you were looking right at her. She must
have gone downstairs after you did, and----"

"No, no," protested Ruth excitedly. "She never left this attic by the
stairway."

"Calm yourself, my dear," begged Mr. Presby in a somewhat more gentle
voice, at the same time laying a hand on Ruth Stuart's shoulder. "Now
let us understand this affair. You say Barbara was up here--she did not
go downstairs with you?"

"No, no!" exclaimed Mollie. "She was reading that old journal when we
went down. We left her sitting right there. Don't you remember, you
asked us to call Barbara downstairs? You wanted to see the diary of old
Mr. Presby, and Ruth went upstairs to call her."

"Yes, yes. Ruth, how do you know that Barbara was here when you called
to her?"

"Because she answered me," replied Ruth.

"What next? Did her voice sound as if she were here in the attic?"

"Yes. I know she was here."

"Was that when you cried out?"

"No. That awful crash came a few seconds after she had answered me. I
ran up here as fast as my feet would carry me. At first the dust was so
thick I was unable to make out anything clearly. I called to Bab but she
did not answer me. I then ran about the room in search of her, thinking
that she had fallen and hurt herself. But she wasn't here," wailed Ruth.
"Oh, what shall I do?"

"Calm yourself. That is the first thing to be done. There is something
mysterious about this. I wish Bob Stevens were here."

"I sent Tom for him. Did you see Mr. Stevens, Tom?"

"No. I sent word by one of the hired hands," admitted Tom sheepishly.
"I--I wanted to do some work in the cellar."

"Then go at once," commanded Mr. Presby sternly.

"Wait!" exclaimed Ruth. "I'll drive the car, storm or no storm. The cold
air w