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Updated: May 20, 2025
It was thought that the house was deserted, but neighbors frequently saw an old woman about it, after Mr. Stockton had disappeared, and she announced that she was the housekeeper, Sarah Blarcum by name. There was also a young man seen about the premises, and, in answer to questions from inquisitive persons, Mrs. Blarcum stated that the young man was Mr.
Blarcum attended to all the marketing. "Well, Herbert," said his mother that night, "you haven't had much use of your new engine, have you?" "Not yet; but we will." "Oh, I hope you don't have to go to any dangerous fires. I'm so afraid you'll get hurt." "A fireman has to take chances, mother. Father had to do it, remember." "But you are only a volunteer." "That's the best kind.
"No one saw him go, and, though he never used to be seen much around the village, still we did have occasional glimpses of him. Now no one has seen him for some time." "So it appears. But the old woman Blarcum, she said her name was called a young man to talk to me. He was Alfred Muchmore, Mr. Stockton's nephew, and, after I had told him what I could do, he engaged me."
Stockton's nephew, Alfred Muchmore, who was running the place during his uncle's absence. As to where Mr. Stockton had gone, Mrs. Blarcum did not know, though she said the nephew had given her to understand his uncle was traveling in Europe. Muchmore was not known to any of the village people, and seemed to keep pretty much to the mansion. He was seen about the grounds occasionally, but Mrs.
Blarcum said he was going to be gone all night." "I believe she's in with him. But we certainly learned one thing. Some person is a prisoner in the house, and it's a man who wants to get out." "And we'll help him," added Mort. "I'll inform the authorities in the morning." "Where will you stay to-night?" asked Bert. "I don't know. I guess I'll go to the hotel." "It isn't a very good place.
"I wonder if he's here, or if Muchmore found out what he was up to, and drove him out," thought Bert, as he waited for an answer. But in a few minutes the stenographer admitted him. "Don't make any noise," he cautioned. "Mrs. Blarcum is in her room, but she has good hearing in spite of her age, and I think she is somehow mixed up with the mystery.
"I don't know who wrote it. Some one must have gone to my typewriter when I was away, or maybe it was done at night." "Could it have been the old housekeeper?" asked Bert. "Maybe she is in trouble, and this looks like an appeal for aid." "No. Mrs. Blarcum is afraid to touch the machine. Besides, she doesn't even know how to put the paper in."
Before he could distinguish the answer, if one was made, there sounded from behind the two rescuers, a woman's scream, and they turned to see Mrs. Blarcum rushing at them. "Come away from there!" she cried. "Come away! Mr. Muchmore doesn't allow any one there!" "I don't care what he allows!" retorted Mort. "We're going to get at the bottom of this mystery!"
A few seconds later Vincent, who had turned his supervision of the bucket corps over to John Boll, came into the smoke-filled hall. "Can I help you, Bert?" he asked. "Oh, yes!" exclaimed Mrs. Blarcum, the aged housekeeper, as she stood some distance back, out of the smoke. "There are some valuable paintings in that room, and they ought to be saved.
Into the mysterious house rushed the young fire-fighters, with Mort at their head to show them the way. The partly shattered door leading into the corridor was quickly broken open, in spite of the protests of Mrs. Blarcum, who did not seem to understand that Muchmore had fled, and that the real owner of the mansion was again in possession.
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