CHAPTER XXVII

THE DESERTED BUNGALOW

"There's your landing," said Mr. Wherry, suddenly, as he shut off the power and turned the bow of the _Balsam_ toward the shore.

"Where?" asked Sylvia.

"Just ahead there, where you see that glimmer of light. I remember the place now. Queer I should forget it. But I was thinking of a party named _Roseman_ that had a bungalow up here last year. I got him mixed up with _Russman_, and that's why I went to the wrong place. But I'm all right now."

The mistake he had made, however, had cost them some ten minutes of time. But at last they were at the place, and the girls gave sighs of relief, for it seemed that some of the nervous strain was over.

"Is the Russman bungalow near the lake?" asked Mrs. Brownley.

"Oh, yes, quite near. You take that path, right where you see the light. That lantern is at the dock. And you go up the hill, and the bungalow is in plain sight. You can't miss it."

"Are you going right back?" asked Sylvia of Mr. Wherry.

"Oh, yes, miss. I have a party to take to Big Tupper Lake to-morrow, so I have to go back. If you'll excuse me, I'll just set your things on shore, and I won't get out myself. I'm late as it is, and I don't fancy going past those sandbars after dark. But I've got to do it."

"Oh, we shall manage very nicely if you set our valises and cases ashore," the chaperon said. "We are used to managing for ourselves."

She paid Mr. Wherry the price agreed upon as the boat was slowly drifting up to the little wharf. The girls could see the lantern now quite plainly. It was hung near a rustic sign that gave the name of the Russman bungalow.

A little later they stood on the shore of the lake in the darkness that was illuminated only by the faint gleam of the hanging lantern, and the _Balsam_ was turning around and going back over the course it had come.

"It's certainly lonesome," shivered Alice, with a nervous glance around.

"Nonsense!" exclaimed Sylvia. "With a bungalow so close at hand? You can even see the lights from it," and she pointed to a glow that shone through the trees.

"Yes, I think that must be the place," said Mrs. Brownley. "I suppose we had better go on up to it."

"Shall we shout to let them know we are here?" asked Hazel.

"Oh, no!" exclaimed Sylvia. "They wouldn't know who it was, and it might startle Roy. Just go up quietly."

"I do hope there is some place where we can stay to-night," said Rose. "Wouldn't it be dreadful if the bungalow should be so filled with guests that there was no place for us!"

"Oh, there will be other places," Sylvia replied. "I made inquiries before starting, and was told there were several hotels in this vicinity, at least boarding-houses and camps."

"But how to find them in the dark?" asked Hazel.

"We'll manage somehow. We aren't Nowadays Girls for nothing!" and Sylvia laughed.

"Well, forward--march!" commanded the chaperon. Each one took her suit-case and started up the path that showed dimly in the gleam of the hanging lantern.

"There goes the motor boat," said Alice, turning to gaze at the moving, shimmering light that betokened that Mr. Wherry was making all speed down Lower Saranac Lake.

"Yes, we _have_ to stay now, whether we want to or not," added Hazel.

"Well, we _want_ to stay!" declared Rose, with positiveness.

"Of course," assented Sylvia.

The faint chug-chug of the _Balsam_ came to them as they made their way up the ascending path toward the gleam of light in the woods which betokened the presence of the bungalow. Gradually the sound of the motor became more faint, as the craft went around a bend. Then it died out altogether.

Suddenly there sounded a loud cry in the tree over the girls' heads.

"Oh!" screamed Hazel.

"A horrid loon!" gasped Alice.

"An owl!" scoffed Sylvia, with a laugh. "When _will_ you girls learn to be nature-lovers?"

The weird cry of the hooting bird was repeated, but the girls were not so frightened now as they walked on. The glow of light increased as they neared the bungalow, which they could dimly see now, outlined amid the trees.

"I do hope they ask us to supper," sighed Alice.

"Of course they will," said Sylvia. "If they don't, we have a good part of our lunch left."

They were now directly in front of the bungalow, which proved to be one of good size, with a porch all the way around it. The building stood some distance back from the lake, on a little elevation of ground that gave a good view.

The front and back doors were wide open, which fact was easily ascertained, as broad shafts of light came from each door, cutting a path of yellow mellowness in the blackness of the woods. They had approached the Russman property at an angle.

"It's rather an awkward time to come visiting," Sylvia said, as she and her chums, with Mrs. Brownley, walked up the front steps. "It is a little too late for dinner and too early for breakfast."

"We couldn't help it," Alice said. "It was the fault of that motor-boat man. He delayed us."

They could now look into the living-room of the bungalow. A large hanging lamp gave ample light, and they saw that the apartment was most comfortably furnished. There were big easy-chairs, window seats draped with Indian blankets and rugs, and a log fire which had died down into glowing embers, for the night was rather chilly.

Through the living-room a glimpse could be had into the dining-room, over the table of which hung another large lamp, lighted, and casting on the board a mellow illumination. The table was set for several persons, but it appeared the meal had not been begun.

"We're just in time," whispered Hazel.

"Hush! Some one will hear you," cautioned Alice.

But Sylvia was impressed, almost from the first, by a strange and eerie silence about the place. There was not a sound. Not a voice spoke. There was no laughter. Even the clatter of dishes, always attendant upon mealtime, was absent, and there was no talk from the quarters of the servants, though the light streaming from the rear door would seem to indicate that the kitchen was in use.

"It is very strange," mused Sylvia. And again a sense of foreboding came to her. Something seemed to hang over her--to press upon her heart. She tried in vain to shake it off.

Mrs. Brownley knocked on the door. The sound echoed through the rooms, and they waited expectantly for the answer of approaching footsteps.

But only silence greeted them.

"Knock again," urged Rose.

The chaperon did so, but once more the echo was the only answer.

"That is strange," said Sylvia, voicing aloud the feeling that was overmastering her. "Very strange!"

"They don't hear us," murmured Aunt Theodora.

"Call!" suggested Hazel. "They may be out in the woods."

"What! after dark, and with supper all served?" asked Alice, incredulously.

A third time Mrs. Brownley rapped, and then, waiting a few seconds, she called:

"Is any one here?"

There was no reply.

"Roy!" suddenly called Sylvia. "Roy Pursell! It is I--Sylvia!"

Her voice carried well. In that silent place it seemed to fill and echo through the woods. But no one answered.

"Let us go in," said Mrs. Brownley. "Something may have happened."

"Oh--what?" gasped Rose.

"I don't know, my dear. But evidently they cannot hear us. I am sure they would welcome us if they could, so let us go in and make our presence known."

Rather embarrassed, they made their way into the living-room. They took pains to make considerable noise, letting the screen door slam shut, but their intrusion was not challenged.

"It is very strange," Sylvia observed again.

They went into the dining-room. And there the strangeness was increased, for there was every evidence that the family and their guests had at least taken their places at the table, though no one had eaten anything. For napkins were unfolded, and in one or two cases had fallen to the floor. And two chairs were upset, as though the occupants had arisen hastily, and in so doing had overturned the pieces of furniture. The table was slightly disarranged, too, showing more plainly that it had been left suddenly, and by all the guests.

"But what does it all mean?" gasped Sylvia.

"I can't imagine," answered the chaperon.

They stood looking at one another, and then gazed about the deserted dining-room. The answer to the puzzle was not plain.

"Can this be the right place?" asked Alice. "We may have made a mistake."

"It is the Russman bungalow, surely enough," Sylvia said. "I have heard Roy describe it several times. And I saw, in the living-room, a suit-case with Mr. Russman's name on it. This is the right place."

"But where is Roy--Mr. Montray--Mr. Russman? Where is--every one?" Rose asked, and there was a sob in her voice.

"I don't know," said Sylvia, simply.

Mrs. Brownley had penetrated to the kitchen through the butler's pantry. The girls followed her.

There was no one there. But the fire was burning in the stove, and on it were several dishes of food, being kept warm. On the kitchen table were other dishes ready to serve, but the food in them was cold.

"Is any one here?" Sylvia cried, raising her voice in a nervous shout.

No one answered. It was as though a blight had fallen on the deserted bungalow--a blight like that of some ancient fable. The occupants of the house in the woods had been made to vanish just as they were about to sit down to the table.

"Is any one here?" Mrs. Brownley cried, standing at the foot of the stairs and directing her voice upward.

No one answered.

Once again they walked through the deserted lower rooms, more and more puzzled, and trying to pluck up courage to ascend the stairs. The silence was oppressive.

"The place is deserted," said Sylvia, in a low voice that, quiet as it was, sounded too loud in that silent place.

"Deserted!" whispered Rose. "Then where is Roy?"