Ghost Stories Read Online Free PDF Page B

friendsbefore you came in. One of them dropped an envelope. Nothing important, it has sentimental value only. But he wishes to recover it. Have you seen an envelope, perhaps?”
    â€œNo, we haven’t,” Mr. Hardy said.
    â€œMight I trouble you to stand up?” the man pressed.
    Mr. Hardy did not look pleased, but he rose. The boys followed his example. Buffon looked underneath the table and in the seat cushions, but he found nothing. His face was tense. “So sorry to bother you, Monsieur Hardy,” he said. “If you should, by any chance, find our letter, please return it. I know I can trust you, because you are an honorable man, yes?” His eyes glittered, and the boys could see that he was furious at having lost an envelope that was apparently very valuable.
    Mr. Hardy just shrugged and kept staring at the man.
    Buffon’s voice became edgy. “I should hate to have to call the police and have them search you and your sons!” He pointed at Frank’s briefcase, which stood at the side of his chair.
    Mr. Hardy stood up and threw his napkin on the table. “I’m sure that whatever is in that envelope would be very interesting for the police to read. So by all means, call them! We’ll wait.”
    Buffon snarled and mumbled something about the Hardys getting what was coming to them someday. Then he spun on his heel and walked out.
    â€œWhat do you make of that?” Joe burst out.
    â€œMaybe we should go back and ask the fortuneteller,” Frank quipped.
    â€œIt is very strange,” Mr. Hardy said slowly. “And I have a feeling we haven’t seen the last of Buffon yet. Or Simbu.”
    â€œTell us more about Simbu,” Frank urged.
    â€œHe was known here in the Atlanta region because there’s a story dating back to the time before the Civil War that involves one of the dolls,” Mr. Hardy began.
    â€œThere was a rich old man who lived alone except for a black slave whom he had treated well and who was devoted to him. The slave was a believer in voodoo and eventually converted his master to its practice. They lived in a large house not far from what is now Route three-eighty. A narrow road leads to it from the Cresthaven Diner. Anyway, when the war came and the Union army swept south and east, the old man became worried about his fortune.”
    â€œNo wonder,” Frank said with a grin.
    Mr. Hardy nodded. “He converted everything into gold and hid it somewhere in the ground. He left it with nothing to guard it but a Simbu doll made by the faithful slave. The old man and his servant tried to keep the Union army off the property, which is shielded by a stone wall, but they were killed. And as far as we know, no one has ever found the gold.”
    â€œWhat a story!” Joe said. “Hasn’t anyone ever looked for the treasure?”
    â€œI suppose so,” Mr. Hardy said. “The thing is,whoever finds it, will also find a valuable Simbu doll.”
    â€œThen, would the discoverer fly in the face of experience and take it with the curse attached to it?” asked Frank.
    All three fell silent for a while and finished their dinner. Afterward, Frank and Joe took their father to the airport, since he had to go to New York that night.
    Frank had an uneasy feeling on the way and looked out the rear window of the taxi. “Someone’s following us,” he said. At the next traffic light, the car behind them had to pull up close and the boys recognized the one-eyed man’s white Mercedes.
    â€œHe thinks we have his envelope!” Joe burst out.
    â€œYes,” Mr. Hardy said. “We have to be very careful. You especially, since you’re staying here. What are your plans for the next few days?”
    â€œWe’ll ride up the coast and spend some time at the various beaches,” Frank replied. “Oh, by the way, I almost forgot to give you your papers.”
    He handed Mr. Hardy the documents, and a