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father at once, and in a few words repeated what she had heard.
    Mr. Drew’s face became grave. “We must go there immediately,” he said. “I will be ready as soon as you bring your car around in front.”
    A few minutes later Nancy and her father were on the now-familiar road to The Sign of the Twisted Candles. Few words were exchanged between them, for their minds were intent on the mysterious and urgent summons from Carol.
    What could have happened? Nancy thought of a dozen answers. Perhaps Mrs. Jemitt had not kept her promise and had done something cruel to Carol. Perhaps Peter and Jacob had met again, and had joined in a pitched battle.
    At last the tower of the old mansion could be seen above the trees, and a minute later Nancy steered into the sweeping driveway.
    “Oh!” she gasped, applying the brakes.
    An undertaker’s long black car was just driving away. Someone was—dead!
    Nancy did not wait for her father but ran into the house. She halted at the sight of Carol’s huddled form on the bottom step of the big staircase, her head on her knees, her thin shoulders shaking with sobs.
    “Carol!” Nancy cried, sitting down beside the girl and clasping her hands. “Tell me what happened.”
    “Mis-Mister Si-Si-Sidney,” Carol said. “He died during the night. I found him—I thought he was asleep—when I brought up his breakfast this morning.”
    As Mr. Drew walked into the hall, Nancy stated soberly, “Mr. Sidney is dead.”
    “Too bad,” he said with a shake of his head. “I’m sorry. It’s true that he lived far, far longer than most persons do, and his life was not a happy one. If only he had lasted a little longer until certain matters could be straightened out, what trouble could have been averted!”
    “Why, Dad, what do you mean?” Nancy asked.
    “I mean that the bickering relatives will now gather and begin to fight over the estate. Then there are other people who probably have already removed some of his property, reducing the value of the estate.”
    At this juncture, Frank Jemitt appeared with a long face. “Mr. Sidney has gone to his just reward,” the innkeeper intoned.
    “I shall stay here as his executor and take charge,” Mr. Drew replied simply.
    “Who asked you to butt in?” Jemitt snapped, dropping his pretense of sorrow. “There’s nothing to be done. Emma and I have made arrangements for the funeral, and we’ll even pay for it out of our own pockets!”
    “That won’t be necessary,” the lawyer told him.
    Nancy noted that Asa Sidney’s death seemed to have added to Jemitt’s courage—and offensive-ness.
    Mr. Drew regarded the man keenly. Determined to assume charge of the late Asa Sidney’s personal effects, he said evenly:
    “Your services will not be needed here much longer, Mr. Jemitt. You are free to make other plans and leave any time after the funeral.”
    “Is that so? Well, we’ll see about that!” Jemitt snapped.

CHAPTER XI
    Surprise Inheritance
    SHOCKED by Jemitt’s complete lack of mourning for a man who had been so kind to him, Nancy, her father, and Carol looked at the innkeeper in disgust.
    “I think,” said Mr. Drew, “that you had better keep such thoughts to yourself until after Mr. Sidney’s will is read. Until then, there is work for you to do. First of all, prepare a sign to put over the one at the entrance. Mark it ‘Closed.’ Then make a complete list of all the food on hand.”
    Jemitt answered defiantly, “Why do you think you can give me orders?”
    “Because as Mr. Sidney’s attorney I am in charge here. I’ll need a duplicate set of keys.”
    The manager stepped back in surprise. “Okay, I’ll do what you say. But first my wife and I will clean up the tower room.”
    At that announcement Nancy squeezed her father’s hand as a signal not to leave the couple alone on the third floor. He understood her message.
    “Mr. Jemitt, my daughter, and Carol—if she feels able—will accompany you. Do not touch anything but