Ghost Stories by Franklin W. Dixon

a sharp cutlass as if ready to swing it at anyone looking at his picture.
    The Hardys shuddered.
    â€œI see you don’t like the Wicked Lord.” MacElphin grinned. “Visitors were always horrified when they saw this picture in the hall. So I took it down and now I keep it hidden in this secret compartment of my desk. I don’t want to lose it because it completes the series of portraits of my ancestors since he became the first Lord MacElphin.”
    The present owner of the castle replaced the hideous picture in the secret compartment andclosed the lid. Then he put his elbows on the desk, clasped his hands, and peered gravely at the young detectives.
    â€œYou’re going to meet the Wicked Lord,” he said darkly.
    â€œHow?” Joe gulped. “He lived centuries ago.”
    â€œHe has come back,” MacElphin replied in an ominous tone. “And now he’s haunting the castle!”
    Frank sat bolt upright in his chair. “You mean—a ghost?”
    â€œExactly. The ghost of Rollo MacElphin. There’s no mistaking him. He looks just like he does in the picture.”
    â€œThen you’ve seen him?” Joe inquired.
    â€œAye. It began two weeks ago after I announced that, as I have no heirs, I intend to sell MacElphin Castle to a syndicate in Glasgow. That night I heard a weird noise. Someone was singing pirate chanteys in the cellar! I went down and, lo and behold, there was the Wicked Lord in the dungeon. When he saw me, he vanished.”
    â€œHe must have scared you out of your wits!” Joe exclaimed.
    â€œHe did. A few nights later, when I was in bed, I heard chains rattling in the cellar. The sound drifted upstairs toward my bedroom. The next moment I saw the Wicked Lord carrying chains like the ones he used to fasten his sea chest in the cargo hold of his ship. The real chains, by the way, are still in the dungeon.”
    â€œAnd then he disappeared again?” Joe wanted to know.
    â€œAs soon as I looked up,” MacElphin replied. “And then there was the night I came back from Glasgow. I saw the Wicked Lord standing on the turret under the pirate flag. He was glowering at me. Of course, when I ran up to the turret, he wasn’t there anymore.”
    MacElphin broke off and shook his head as if trying to rid himself of the memory.
    â€œLord MacElphin, has anyone else in the castle seen the ghost?” Frank questioned.
    The Scotsman nodded. “Mrs. Crone and Haver, my butler, have seen him. They also heard the sea chanteys and the rattling chains. My servants are now so terrified that they refuse to go near the cellar anymore.”
    â€œHave you tried to get help?” Joe asked.
    â€œYes. I hired a detective from Glasgow. He didn’t believe in ghosts before he came here. I showed him the portrait and he kept the dungeon under surveillance the night he arrived. But then he saw the ghost and it frightened him so much that he refused to stay at the castle any longer.”
    â€œThat must be the man Mrs. Crone told us about,” Joe said. “The one who asked about the picture and got so scared that he fled from the castle.”
    â€œSuppose we see the ghost,” Frank said slowly. “What do we do then?”
    â€œI consulted the occult books in my library,” MacElphin replied. “One says a ghost will sometimes talk to strangers from another country. That’s why I called your father. I hope you’re not afraid,” he added anxiously.
    Frank shrugged. “We’re not afraid, Lord Mac-Elphin. We just don’t know what to expect.”
    â€œI can’t tell you what to expect,” MacElphin confessed. “I’m depending on you to decide what to do when you meet the ghost. I’ve made arrangements for you to spend tonight in a room opposite the dungeon. That way, you’ll be able to hear everything. Haver will show you down there after dinner.”
    He summoned the butler to