Chapter 24 The Whispering Statue by Carolyn Keene
THE STORM
With head bent low, Joe Mitza stumbled through the garden. He was muttering to himself, saying over and over that he had learned his lesson, and that never again would he be dishonest.
Nancy had intended to frighten the fellow with another whispered warning. However, observing his nervous condition, she overcame the temptation and remained silent. The fellow cast a frightened glance at the Whispering Girl statue as he hastened by and went on down the road.
“And now to find George and Bess,” Nancy told herself. “If we hurry we can still get back to Sea Cliff before the storm breaks.”
The sheet offered some protection from the wild wind, so she kept it wrapped about her as she hastened to the main road.
“The girls will think they’re seeing a ghost when I walk into view,” she chuckled.
An instant later the smile had left Nancy’s face. Mr. Trixler’s car had disappeared!
“Why, that’s strange,” she thought in alarm.
She remembered the exact place where the girls had parked; in fact, she found where the car wheels had stood, but nowhere was there any sign of her chums.
“They’ve left me!” she acknowledged ruefully. “Now I am in a predicament, stranded in this desolate place with a storm coming on.”
Nancy did not believe that her chums had really deserted her. She thought they might have become alarmed over her prolonged absence and gone back to Sea Cliff for help. The result, however, was the same.
She stood by the road a few minutes, but it soon became evident to her that few cars traveled that way since the highway was not in good condition.
“Well, I’m not alone here anyway,” she thought, turning to retrace her steps to the Conger house. “Miss Morse is still inside that old dwelling. I ought to warn her to leave, for the place might collapse.”
It was not necessary for Nancy to enter the house. When she reached the garden she was relieved to see Miss Morse emerging from the side door. The old woman wore no hat nor coat, and her hair was blowing about wildly in the wind.
Miss Morse stood still for a moment and leaned against the crumbling wall of the house. Then she stumbled toward the black, angry waters of the encroaching sea.
Fearing that the distraught woman intended to fling herself over the bank, Nancy made a move to start after her. Miss Morse suddenly turned and came aimlessly toward the garden.
The Drew girl did not wish to be seen. With the sheet wrapped about her she once more assumed the pose of a statue, remaining motionless as the woman staggered toward her. Miss Morse dropped down upon one knee. With her head bent low she began to pray, asking forgiveness for the wicked life which she had led.
At first Nancy kept silent, scarcely daring to move a muscle lest her identity be discovered. As she listened to the humble plea of the repentant woman, sympathy overcame caution. She whispered a few consoling words in an attempt to calm Miss Morse.
Slowly the old lady raised her head, as if to hear more clearly. Her lips moved, yet she spoke no word. Confident that Miss Morse believed the statue had spoken, Nancy became more daring and offered additional spiritual advice.
Suddenly the girl received a shock that nearly caused her to abandon her pose as a marble figure. The woman, assuming the message had come from her dead husband, spoke to him. To Nancy’s amazement, she addressed him as Frank Wormrath. He must be the dishonest partner of her father’s client, Mr. Owen!
“Your husband is not dead,” the girl whispered when she had recovered her poise again. “Do not fear. He still lives.”
A flash of lightning cut a jagged ribbon through the inky sky, momentarily illuminating the garden. Rain began to fall. Miss Morse did not seem to be aware of the storm, for she still knelt beside the statue, waiting for it to speak again.
“Seek shelter within the house,” Nancy directed in a whisper, for she was eager to quit the scene herself. Her sheet was becoming water soaked, and in a minute the deception would be revealed.
Miss Morse arose and moved silently away toward the building. As soon as she dared, Nancy followed. She knew that with the high waves pounding against the foundation of the structure it would be unsafe to remain there long. Yet she and the woman could not stay out in the drenching rain.
“As soon as the storm lets up a bit I’ll find a safer place for both of us,” she told herself.
Nancy quietly entered the house, and tossed away her wet sheet. She scarcely knew how to approach the old woman.
“Miss Morse! Miss Morse!” she called softly.
There was no response. Nancy backed against the wall, listening. She feared that the woman might attempt to attack her as she had done before. She waited for some sound which would warn her of the other’s stealthy approach. Only the fearful roar of the ocean reached her ears.
Suddenly she heard a low moan which seemed to come from the floor. Groping her way forward, she found the candle which Mitza had left on the table. A box of matches stood beside it.
In a moment she made a light, which revealed Miss Morse lying in a crumpled heap on the floor. The woman had fainted. Nancy ran to her, pillowing the inert head upon her lap.
“Poor thing,” she thought, “she has had too much excitement. No wonder she collapsed.”
The girl was alarmed upon taking Miss Morse’s pulse to discover that it was rapid and weak. However, in a few minutes the old woman’s eyes opened feebly and she stared blankly into the girl’s face.
“Who—are—you?” she whispered.
“A friend,” Nancy answered soothingly. “Don’t try to talk. Just as soon as the rain stops I shall take you to a doctor.”
The storm, however, showed no signs of abating. Each time the high waves struck the decaying foundation of the house, Nancy could hear the rotted timbers shudder and groan. Outside the rain fell in torrents. Wind rattled the windows.
Miss Morse seemed to have fallen into a state of semi-stupor. She was fully conscious, yet appeared hardly aware of anything going on about her. She clung tightly to Nancy’s hand.
Presently the girl went over to the window to gaze out at the tempest. She wondered what had become of George and Bess.
As she walked back across the floor to Miss Morse’s side there came a resounding crack and roar as a gigantic wave struck the foundation of the mansion. It was far worse than any previous blow had been. Nancy was thrown off balance, and the old woman suddenly seemed to comprehend their danger.
“Help! Help!” the old woman screamed in terror as she too pitched forward. “The house is falling!”
The ancient dwelling shivered and groaned as if struggling to hold its precarious balance on the sandy bank. The furniture danced crazily on the floor. Everywhere bric-a-brac fell with a crash.
Slowly at first, then with a sickening plunge the great homestead with its two helpless occupants toppled over the bank to be claimed by the triumphant sea!