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Updated: September 4, 2025
A man who had been one of their number was less likely to tell if he had a hand in it himself. And so there were ten of them. It might be that one among the number of the murdered had seen the murder of Mr. Morris, or of Pat Gilligan, or the attempted murder of Captain Clayton.
"I suppose it would take forever to make a fire in that," said Billie, indicating the stove and thinking longingly of hot steak and potatoes, "even if they have any coal." "Here's plenty of coal," said Mrs. Gilligan, who had been finding things out in her own practical and efficient way, "and here is plenty of wood and old newspapers to start it going.
"As for me, I wouldn't step a foot inside of it, no sir, not if you was to give me a farm!" "Maybe you wouldn't do it for a farm," said Mrs. Gilligan, striding resolutely toward the man and the boy, while the two drew apart and stared at her in surprise, "but you're goin' to do it for me.
"It was just as if somebody had taken the back of his finger," Laura added, "and run it all the way down the keyboard from the top note of the treble to the last note of the bass." "Oh, you must have been dreaming," said Ferd, opening the piano to examine it inside. "No, they weren't dreaming," said Mrs. Gilligan seriously. "Because I was very much awake when I heard it."
Gilligan at the head, they marched through what seemed to be a library, seen dimly by the light thrown by their four candles, into a room whose table and chairs showed it to be the dining-room. "The kitchen must be just beyond, then," said Laura, beginning to enjoy herself immensely. "There's a door, Mrs. Gilligan. Look out don't bump your head." But Mrs.
"Have you heard your ghostly motor again?" "Oh, much worse!" cried Violet. "We heard a ghost playing a piano!" said Laura. "Listen," commanded Billie. "There it goes again. Oh, Mrs. Gilligan, I'm f-frightened." Mrs. Gilligan listened, and even she, matter-of-fact, humorous Irishwoman that she was, felt that same strange tendency on the part of her hair to stand up straight in the air.
Maria Gilligan in a loud voice, "I never did hear one that sounded so much like a suitcase sliding off a trunk." The girls giggled and followed Mrs. Gilligan as she strode up the stairs.
"And maybe we weren't afraid to go in!" said Violet, with a shudder. "I don't know how we ever got the courage." "Well, you only came because Mrs. Gilligan and I went ahead with the broom and the poker," sniffed Laura. "Was it playing when you came down the stairs?" asked Chet, interested. "And did it stop as soon as you entered the room?" "Yes," it was Mrs. Gilligan who answered this time.
Gilligan as her torch lighted up a wonderful old-fashioned richly carved candelabrum containing a dozen candles, half burned and looking rather wilted. "It's candles we'll be burning while we're here." The girls groaned. "But they give such a ghostly, flickering light," protested Violet, as if it were in some way Mrs. Gilligan's fault.
So the girls told her about their weird experience of the night before, all talking at once and making it as hard as possible for Mrs. Gilligan to understand what it was all about. "A noise that sounded like a motor car," she said, when they had finished and had paused for lack of breath. "Well, I don't see what's so very queer about that. May have been some joy-riders or something."
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