The Sign of the Twisted Candles by Carolyn Keene

stooped to throw back the lid of one when a step creaked on the stairway. Someone was coming!
    “It must be Father Jemitt!” Carol chattered, clutching at Nancy.
    “This way, quick!” Nancy said.
    She pushed Carol into the moldering old wardrobe, crowded in beside her, and pulled the doors as nearly shut as possible. The stairs continued to creak as someone slowly mounted them. Carol gripped Nancy’s arm, trembling violently. A shadowy figure appeared at the head of the steps and paused to survey the attic.
    “That isn’t Father Jemitt,” Carol whispered. “This man’s too tall.”
    “Sh!” Nancy warned.
    He entered the attic and gave a start upon seeing the displaced floorboard. The newcomer stooped to look into the opening, and evidently lifted the lids of the boxes.
    Then he straightened up and scanned the entire room. As his face was revealed in the dim light, Nancy almost gave a startled exclamation. The man was Raymond Hill, the banker from Smith’s Ferry!
    What was he doing here? Had he betrayed Carson Drew’s trust and confidence? Had the lure of old Asa’s fortune overcome his scruples, too? Nancy was tense as these questions raced through her mind.
    Meanwhile, Mr. Hill paced slowly around the attic. Nancy was certain he would eventually pull open the doors of the antique wardrobe and find the two girls.
    A plank creaked under Mr. Hill’s feet and he stopped, bent down, and gave a little chuckle. Nancy saw him pry the nails loose and lift the board. He reached into the opening and pulled out a metal box used for filing valuable documents.
    Mr. Hill opened it and took a bundle of papers from it. Nancy guessed they were stock certificates. He looked through them, stuffed the bundle into his pocket, and replaced the loose flooring, after kicking the box out of sight.
    Now Mr. Hill’s eyes roved about the attic and at last fastened on the old wardrobe. He began to walk toward it slowly, testing the planks beneath his feet at every step.
    Nancy was thinking fast. Should she emerge from her hiding place or gamble that Mr. Hill would not open the wardrobe?
    A sinister sight interrupted her thoughts. Standing at the head of the steps, up which he had crept with practiced caution, was Frank Jemitt! His eyes gleamed unbelievingly as he watched Mr. Hill’s movements closely.
    At that moment the banker glanced about the attic once more. Nancy saw him stiffen when he detected the other man.
    “Mr. Jemitt!” the banker said, unruffled. “What are you bringing up here now to hide? Come, let me see it!”
    Jemitt mounted the top step and strode toward Mr. Hill. In his arms was something tightly wrapped in newspapers.
    “I don’t know why you’re here trespassing,” Jemitt snarled. “But if you want to see what I have, here it is!”
    To Nancy’s horror, he hurled his burden full force at Mr. Hill. The paper fell off, revealing a square metal box. The banker ducked but a corner of the box caught his shoulder, causing him to lose his balance and almost fall.
    That was the advantage Jemitt wanted. He rushed forward with flailing fists. Mr. Hill threw up his arms to protect his face. Jemitt thrust out a foot and sent the tall man sprawling onto his back.
    In a flash Jemitt was on top of him. One hand gripped Mr. Hill’s throat, while the other pounded his face and head.
    “You coward!” Nancy exclaimed, and burst from the wardrobe. “Stop that!”
    She flew at Jemitt and seized his shirt collar at the back with both hands to drag him away.

CHAPTER XIII
    Fleeing Suspects
    “WHO’S that? What are—?” Jemitt choked.
    He craned his neck, and when he saw that Nancy was his new opponent he bared his teeth and snarled, “Let go of me, or I’ll do worse than this to you.”
    Nancy’s response was to twist her fingers deeper into the man’s collar and tug harder. Realizing that he had an unexpected ally, Mr. Hill squirmed free of Jemitt’s grasp and drove his fist deep into the innkeeper’s stomach.
    The