ng to Treasureholme and as usual the
conversation had turned to the tale of the long-lost treasure.

An old-fashioned bookcase, extending all the way across one end of the
room, was filled with leather-bound books. Bab regarded them longingly.
She made up her mind to browse among these old volumes at the first
opportunity.

"Help yourself any time you wish," smiled Olive, who had observed Bab's
eager glances at the bookcase. Barbara blushed that her thoughts should
have been read so easily.

"Oh, I should love to!" she answered simply.

Mollie cast an apprehensive glance about her.

"Are you sure there are no ghosts in this old place?" she asked.

"Of course not. What made you think of that?" laughed Ruth.

"In all the stories I ever read about buried treasure there was sure to
be a ghost to guard it," replied Mollie. "Perhaps Treasureholme has a
ghost, too. At any rate, I feel spooky."

"So do I," agreed Grace. "Did you hear that noise?"

"It sounds to me like rats or mice," ventured Barbara. "Of course it is.
I know the sound. I hope they don't come out while I am here."

A hush fell over the little party of "Automobile Girls." A gentle
scratching that seemed to come from the left side of the fireplace was
audible to each of them. As they listened the sound seemed to magnify. A
draft through the open door that led into the hallway smote Mollie in
the back of the neck. She sprang up, uttering a little cry.

"It's a ghost. I felt it blow on my neck," she cried.

"Nonsense! I'll soon show you the ghost," offered Ruth, starting to her
feet. "I know this old place pretty well. May I, Olive?"

Olive nodded smilingly. Ruth stepped to the left side of the fireplace
and, grasping a knob that had escaped the observation of the
Kingsbridge girls, deliberately pulled out a panel that was in reality a
door.

The girls uttered exclamations of amazement. Then they saw something
move in the dark recess the door had revealed. It was Tom, sitting in
the hole in the wall, with his feet curled up under him. He was grinning
sardonically.

"Here's your ghost," announced Ruth, taking firm hold of the
irrepressible Tom's collar and assisting him out into the room. "You
ought to be ashamed of yourself, Thomas Presby, frightening young women
in that fashion."

"Yes, Tom, I am ashamed of you," rebuked Olive. But Tom was perfectly
cheerful and unabashed.

"A secret passage?" gasped Mollie.

"It's a sort of underground pass