The Mack Reynolds Megapack
The Rafael Sabatini Megapack
The Saki Megapack
The Darrell Schweitzer Megapack
The Robert Sheckley Megapack
The Bram Stoker Megapack
The Lon Williams Weird Western Megapack
The Virginia Woolf Megapack
The William Hope Hodgson Megapack
* Not available in the United States
** Not available in the European Union
***Out of print.
OTHER COLLECTIONS YOU MAY ENJOY
The Great Book of Wonder, by Lord Dunsany (it should have been called “The Lord Dunsany Megapack”)
The Wildside Book of Fantasy
The Wildside Book of Science Fiction
Yondering: The First Borgo Press Book of Science Fiction Stories
To the Stars—And Beyond! The Second Borgo Press Book of Science Fiction Stories
Once Upon a Future: The Third Borgo Press Book of Science Fiction Stories
Whodunit?—The First Borgo Press Book of Crime and Mystery Stories
More Whodunits—The Second Borgo Press Book of Crime and Mystery Stories
X is for Xmas: Christmas Mysteries
DORIS FORCE AT LOCKED GATES, by Julia K. Duncan
CHAPTER I
A Queer Invitation
“What are you waiting for, Doris? You’ve been hanging on that gatepost all afternoon.”
“Marshmallow” Mallow, a chubby, pleasant-faced youth flung away the core of an apple and came slowly down the walk toward the girl he had just addressed.
“Oh, I’m waiting for the postman,” Doris Force, an unusually pretty miss of sixteen, tossed carelessly over her shoulder as she continued to gaze down the street. “He just turned the corner.”
“Must be you’re expecting a very important letter,” Marshmallow drawled. “I’ll bet it’s from Dave!”
“Oh, go eat another apple!” Doris retorted goodnaturedly. “I’m looking for a letter from Kitty Norris, my chum at boarding school. I’m anxious to find out what she’s planning to do this vacation.”
“It’s sure going to be dull here at Chilton this summer.”
“I wish something exciting would turn up.”
“So do I, but nothing ever does.” Gloomily, Marshmallow thrust his hand into his coat pocket and brought out two candy bars. “Have one, Doris?”
“No, thanks. I don’t see how you can enjoy eating all the time! Why, if you keep on, you’ll land in the circus!”
Doris knew from past experience that her gibes would be accepted in the bantering spirit in which they were intended. She had known Marshall Mallow for a number of years, and, in fact, they had resided in the same house, for Doris’s uncle, Wardell Force, rented a suite of rooms from Marshall’s mother, Mrs. Thomas Mallow.
Though Doris and Marshall were as unlike as it was possible for two persons to be, they were the best of friends. Marshmallow, who answered to his given name only when his mother called, was liked by nearly everyone in the neighborhood, but he was subjected to a great deal of teasing because he was decidedly fat. He was a year older than Doris but frequently was mistaken as the younger of the two.
If Marshmallow were easy going and perhaps inclined to be a trifle lazy, Doris made up for his lack of energy. She was studious, and tremendously interested in athletics and music, particularly the latter. It was her ambitious dream that some day she would win fame as a singer in grand opera. Doris was utterly without vanity and would never admit that she was talented. As for her appearance, she never could understand why her friends were envious of her dark red curly hair and deep blue eyes.
“Here the mailman comes at last,” she sighed in relief, as she saw the man turn in at the house next door. “Oh, I do hope he has something for me.”
A moment later the postman stopped at the Mallow gate and began to look through a pack of letters.
“Here you are, young lady,” he said with a pleasant smile.
“Two!” Doris gasped in delight. “That’s better than I had hoped for.” Quickly, she scanned the postmarks. “And this one is from Kitty, too!”
Eagerly, she ripped open the envelope. The letter, written in an almost illegible scrawl, was brief, for Kitty Norris had never been a satisfactory correspondent.
“Kitty hasn’t made any plans for the summer yet,” she informed Marshmallow as she replaced the letter in the envelope. “She thinks it would be fun if we could go to some summer camp.”
“Well, why don’t you?”
“I wish I could—but there’s the problem of money.”
“Your uncle will give it to you. He thinks you’re just right and he couldn’t deny you anything.”
“Uncle Ward is a dear and he’s always given me everything I want, but I don’t like to ask for too much.”
“It’s your own money, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Uncle Ward has looked after my property ever since Mother and Father died, but the other day he told me he wanted to have a long talk with me about money. I guess I’ve been using it up dreadfully fast. Boarding school costs such a lot.”
“Well, it shouldn’t cost so much to go camping.”
“No, that’s so,” Doris agreed, more cheerfully. “I think I’ll ask him if I can’t go. Oh, dear, I don’t see why one has to worry about money all the time! I’d just be sick, if I found out I couldn’t go on with my music lessons. It would seem so funny to be poor!”
“I wouldn’t see anything funny about it,” Marshmallow said as he thoughtfully munched a candy bar.
“I didn’t really mean it would be funny,” Doris corrected. “I’ve always had the things I’ve needed and until Uncle Ward spoke to me the other day, it never occurred to me that I didn’t have a substantial income.”
Remembering that she had not read her second letter, she tore open the envelope and glanced curiously at the message. It was written in a fine but cramped hand, and Doris turned over at once to the signature.
“Azalea and Iris Gates,” she read aloud. “How very odd!”
“What’s odd?” Marshmallow demanded.
“Why, just listen to this letter:
“‘My dear Miss Force: We understand you are the only daughter of the late Louise Trent Force. We knew her a great many years ago, and now after many years of heartache over her older brother, John, we find a most unusual circumstance has arisen. Could you come to Rumson and visit our home in order to acquaint yourself with the present affairs pertaining to John Trent, your uncle? Very truly yours, Azalea and Iris Gates.’”
“You never told me you had an uncle by that name, Doris.”
“I didn’t know it myself, Marshmallow! This is all news to me!”
“Sort of queer they invite you down to their place at Rumson, isn’t it? A fellow would think they could write anything they wanted to tell you.”
“Perhaps this is only an excuse for something else,” Doris said, thoughtfully scanning the letter a second time. “What do you suppose they mean by saying they want to acquaint me with the present affairs pertaining to my uncle?