Free The Mansion in the Mist by John Bellairs Page A

conditions. That would explain the weird flies in his hat and all that nonsense about the upper lake. Well, wouldn't it?"
    Emerson said nothing. The clouds in the west parted, and a long ray of reddish light shot out. It hovered over the three figures who stood on the dock, and then it was gone. Darkness deepened on the lake. "I think we are in big trouble," Emerson intoned in a grave voice. "You can explain all you like, but I feel it in my bones. That old man—whoever or whatever he is—will be back. You mark my words, he will! And I'll bet he's after the gold coin. We'll have to hide it somewhere, in a place that's safe. Suggestions, anyone?"
    Miss Eells stooped and picked up one of the flat smooth stones that Emerson had plucked from the bed of the lake. She tried to make it skip across the water, but as usual it didn't work for her—the stone sank immediately. "I think we should take the coin out to the middle of the lake and pitch it in," she said at last. "We've got the information we need from it, so it's useless to us now—unless you think you're going to clean up in the rare coin market, Em."
    "Well, I sort of had something like that in mind, Myra, if you must know," he said with a sheepish grin on his face. "I mean, even a defaced Brasher doubloon is worth something. You might get ten thousand dollars for it, instead of the quarter million that you could expect if it was undamaged. That would be enough money to pay for Anthony's college education."
    Miss Eells looked at Emerson in exasperation. "Em, they don't let dead people into college! What I mean is, if you're right about that old guy, then he'll kill us out of pure spite if he can't find the coin. Is it worth it to hide the thing?"
    Emerson seemed amused. "So now you've come around to my point of view about the old geezer," he said, chuckling. Then he turned to Anthony, who had not said much lately. "Anthony," Emerson asked, "where would you hide the doubloon?"
    Anthony shrugged. "Gee, Mr. Eells, I'd... well, there's a loose board in the floor in the parlor. I noticed it because I keep stepping on it. Why don't we put the coin under there?"
    Emerson grinned and rubbed his hands together in a satisfied way. "An excellent suggestion!" he said. "Brilliant! I'll get a clawhammer and draw out the nails in the board. Then we can put the board back when we've hidden the coin."
    "I think the two of you are out of your minds," said Miss Eells as she turned to go back to the cottage. "But even lunatics can dry dishes and put them away on shelves. Come on. We've got some cleaning up to do."
    After the dishes were done, Emerson and Anthony got the loose floorboard up in the study, and they laid the coin down on the dirt under the parlor floor. Then Emerson replaced the board and banged the nails back into place. Later the three vacationers tried to spend a normal evening in the parlor. Miss Eells and Anthony played gin rummy, and Emerson played Gilbert and Sullivan tunes on the upright piano. It was a warm night, and all the downstairs windows were open. A stiff breeze was blowing, and every time a branch swished against the side of the house or an acorn rolled down the roof, Miss Eells would turn and stare wildly toward the door. Once when the waves on the lake bumped their row-boat against the dock, Miss Eells made a little nervous cry and ran to the glass-paned door. She flung it open and stepped out onto the porch. Nobody there.
    "Good heavens, Myra!" exclaimed Emerson, turning around on the piano stool. "You're giving everyone the heebie-jeebies the way you're acting! Do you really think that old man—or whoever he is—will come barging in here while we're still up? He won't return until he thinks we're asleep."
    "And do you think any of us is going to sleep a wink tonight?" asked Miss Eells, as she walked back into the parlor. "I'm planning on having a nervous breakdown. How about you?"
    Emerson got up and brushed lint off the sleeves of his shirt. "Well,