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diff --git a/old/54273-0.txt b/old/54273-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 1b0b397..0000000 --- a/old/54273-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2575 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook, Locked Doors, by Mary Roberts Rinehart - - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - - -Title: Locked Doors - - -Author: Mary Roberts Rinehart - - - -Release Date: March 3, 2017 [eBook #54273] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - - -***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LOCKED DOORS*** - - -E-text prepared by Stephen Hutcheson and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) - - - -Transcriber’s note: - - This eBook contains only the story “Locked Doors,” although - the title page is from a printed omnibus edition. - - Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). - - - - - -MARY ROBERTS RINEHART’S CRIME BOOK - -Containing -Three Complete Stories - - THE AFTER HOUSE - LOCKED DOORS - THE RED LAMP - - - - - - -New York -Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers - -By arrangement with Farrar & Rinehart - -Copyright, 1914, 1925, by Mary Roberts Rinehart -Printed in the United States of America -All Rights Reserved - - - - - LOCKED DOORS - - - - - I - - -“You promised,” I reminded Mr. Patton, “to play with cards on the -table.” - -“My dear young lady,” he replied, “I have no cards! I suspect a game, -that’s all.” - -“Then—do you need me?” - -The detective bent forward, his arms on his desk, and looked me over -carefully. - -“What sort of shape are you in? Tired?” - -“No.” - -“Nervous?” - -“Not enough to hurt.” - -“I want you to take another case, following a nurse who has gone to -pieces,” he said, selecting his words carefully. “I don’t want to tell -you a lot—I want you to go in with a fresh mind. It promises to be an -extraordinary case.” - -“How long was the other nurse there?” - -“Four days.” - -“She went to pieces in four days!” - -“Well, she’s pretty much unstrung. The worst is, she hasn’t any real -reason. A family chooses to live in an unusual manner, because they like -it, or perhaps they’re afraid of something. The girl was, that’s sure. I -had never seen her until this morning, a big, healthy-looking young -woman; but she came in looking back over her shoulder as if she expected -a knife in her back. She said she was a nurse from St. Luke’s and that -she’d been on a case for four days. She’d left that morning after about -three hours’ sleep in that time, being locked in a room most of the -time, and having little but crackers and milk for food. She thought it -was a case for the police.” - -“Who is ill in the house? Who was her patient?” - -“There is no illness, I believe. The French governess had gone, and they -wished the children competently cared for until they replaced her. That -was the reason given her when she went. Afterward she—well, she was -puzzled.” - -“How are you going to get me there?” - -He gathered acquiescence from my question and smiled approval. - -“Good girl!” he said. “Never mind how I’ll get you there. You are the -most dependable woman I know.” - -“The most curious, perhaps?” I retorted. “Four days on the case, three -hours’ sleep, locked in and yelling ‘Police’! Is it out of town?” - -“No, in the heart of the city, on Beauregard Square. Can you get some -St. Luke’s uniforms? They want another St. Luke’s nurse.” - -I said I could get the uniforms, and he wrote the address on a card. - -“Better arrive about five,” he said. - -“But—if they are not expecting me?” - -“They will be expecting you,” he replied enigmatically. - -“The doctor, if he’s a St. Luke’s man——” - -“There is no doctor.” - - -It was six months since I had solved, or helped to solve, the mystery of -the buckled bag for Mr. Patton. I had had other cases for him in the -interval, cases where the police could not get close enough. As I said -when I began this record of my crusade against crime and the criminal, a -trained nurse gets under the very skin of the soul. She finds a mind -surrendered, all the crooked little motives that have fired the guns of -life revealed in their pitifulness. - -Gradually I had come to see that Mr. Patton’s point of view was right; -that if the criminal uses every means against society, why not society -against the criminal? At first I had used this as a flag of truce to my -nurse’s ethical training; now I flaunted it, a mental and moral banner. -The criminal against society, and I against the criminal! And, more than -that, against misery, healing pain by augmenting it sometimes, but -working like a surgeon, for good. - -I had had six cases in six months. Only in one had I failed to land my -criminal, and that without any suspicion of my white uniform and -rubber-soled shoes. Although I played a double game no patient of mine -had suffered. I was a nurse first and a police agent second. If it was a -question between turpentine compresses—stupes, professionally—and seeing -what letters came in or went out of the house, the compress went on -first, and cracking hot too. I am not boasting. That is my method, the -only way I can work, and it speaks well for it that, as I say, only one -man escaped arrest—an arson case where the factory owner hanged himself -in the bathroom needle shower in the house he had bought with the -insurance money, while I was fixing his breakfast tray. And even he -might have been saved for justice had the cook not burned the toast and -been obliged to make it fresh. - -I was no longer staying at a nurses’ home. I had taken a bachelor suite -of three rooms and bath, comfortably downtown. I cooked my own -breakfasts when I was off duty and I dined at a restaurant near. -Luncheon I did not bother much about. Now and then Mr. Patton telephoned -me and we lunched together in remote places where we would not be known. -He would tell me of his cases and sometimes he asked my advice. - -I bought my uniforms that day and took them home in a taxicab. The -dresses were blue, and over them for the street the St. Luke’s girls -wear long cloaks, English fashion, of navy blue serge, and a blue bonnet -with a white ruching and white lawn ties. I felt curious in it, but it -was becoming and convenient. Certainly I looked professional. - -At three o’clock that afternoon a messenger brought a small box, -registered. It contained a St. Luke’s badge of gold and blue enamel. - -At four o’clock my telephone rang. I was packing my suitcase according -to the list I keep pasted in the lid. Under the list, which was of -uniforms, aprons, thermometer, instruments, a nurse’s simple set of -probe, forceps and bandage scissors, was the word “box.” This always -went in first—a wooden box with a lock, the key of which was round my -neck. It contained skeleton keys, a small black revolver of which I was -in deadly fear, a pair of handcuffs, a pocket flashlight, and my badge -from the chief of police. I was examining the revolver nervously when -the telephone rang, and I came within an ace of sending a bullet into -the flat below. - -Did you ever notice how much you get out of a telephone voice? We can -dissemble with our faces, but under stress the vocal cords seem to draw -up tight and the voice comes thin and colorless. There’s a little woman -in the flat beneath—the one I nearly bombarded—who sings like a bird at -her piano half the day, scaling vocal heights that make me dizzy. Now -and then she has a visitor, a nice young man, and she disgraces herself, -flats F, fogs E even, finally takes cowardly refuge in a wretched -mezzo-soprano and cries herself to sleep, doubtless, later on. - -The man who called me had the thin-drawn voice of extreme strain—a -youngish voice. - -“Miss Adams,” he said, “this is Francis Reed speaking. I have called St. -Luke’s and they referred me to you. Are you free to take a case this -afternoon?” - -I fenced. I was trying to read the voice. - -“This afternoon?” - -“Well, before night anyhow; as—as early this evening as possible.” - -The voice was strained and tired, desperately tired. It was not peevish. -It was even rather pleasant. - -“What is the case, Mr. Reed?” - -He hesitated. “It is not illness. It is merely—the governess has gone -and there are two small children. We want some one to give her undivided -attention to the children.” - -“I see.” - -“Are you a heavy sleeper, Miss Adams?” - -“A very light one.” I fancied he breathed freer. - -“I hope you are not tired from a previous case?” I was beginning to like -the voice. - -“I’m quite fresh,” I replied almost gayly. “Even if I were not, I like -children, especially well ones. I shan’t find looking after them very -wearying, I’m sure.” - -Again the odd little pause. Then he gave me the address on Beauregard -Square, and asked me to be sure not to be late. - -“I must warn you,” he added; “we are living in a sort of casual way. Our -servants left us without warning. Mrs. Reed has been getting along as -best she could. Most of our meals are being sent in.” - -I was thinking fast. No servants! A good many people think a trained -nurse is a sort of upper servant. I’ve been in houses where they were -amazed to discover that I was a college woman and, finding the two -things irreconcilable, have openly accused me of having been driven to -such a desperate course as a hospital training by an unfortunate love -affair. - -“Of course you understand that I will look after the children to the -best of my ability, but that I will not replace the servants.” - -I fancied he smiled grimly. - -“That of course. Will you ring twice when you come?” - -“Ring twice?” - -“The doorbell,” he replied impatiently. - -I said I would ring the doorbell twice. - -The young woman below was caroling gayly, ignorant of the six-barreled -menace over her head. I knelt again by my suitcase, but packed little -and thought a great deal. I was to arrive before dusk at a house where -there were no servants and to ring the doorbell twice. I was to be a -light sleeper, although I was to look after two healthy children. It was -not much in itself, but, taken in connection with the previous nurse’s -appeal to the police, it took on new possibilities. - -At six I started out to dinner. It was early spring and cold, but quite -light. At the first corner I saw Mr. Patton waiting for a street car, -and at his quick nod I saw I was to get in also. He did not pay my fare -or speak to me. It was a part of the game that we were never seen -together except at the remote restaurant I mentioned before. The car -thinned out and I could watch him easily. Far downtown he alighted and -so did I. The restaurant was near. I went in alone and sat down at a -table in a recess, and very soon he joined me. We were in the main -dining room but not of it, a sop at once to the conventions and to the -necessity, where he was so well known, for caution. - -“I got a little information—on—the affair we were talking of,” he said -as he sat down. “I’m not so sure I want you to take the case after all.” - -“Certainly I shall take it,” I retorted with some sharpness. “I’ve -promised to go.” - -“Tut! I’m not going to send you into danger unnecessarily.” - -“I am not afraid.” - -“Exactly. A lot of generals were lost in the Civil War because they were -not afraid and wanted to lead their troops instead of saving themselves -and their expensive West Point training by sitting back in a safe spot -and directing the fight. Any fool can run into danger. It takes -intellect to keep out.” - -I felt my color rising indignantly. - -“Then you brought me here to tell me I am not to go?” - -“Will you let me read you two reports?” - -“You could have told me that at the corner!” - -“Will you let me read you two reports?” - -“If you don’t mind I’ll first order something to eat. I’m to be there -before dark.” - -“Will you let me——” - -“I’m going, and you know I’m going. If you don’t want me to represent -you I’ll go on my own. They want a nurse, and they’re in trouble.” - -I think he was really angry. I know I was. If there is anything that -takes the very soul out of a woman, it is to be kept from doing a thing -she has set her heart on, because some man thinks it dangerous. If she -has any spirit, that rouses it. - -Mr. Patton quietly replaced the reports in his wallet and his wallet in -the inside pocket of his coat, and fell to a judicial survey of the -menu. But although he did not even glance at me he must have felt the -determination in my face, for he ordered things that were quickly -prepared and told the waiter to hurry. - -“I have wondered lately,” he said slowly, “whether the mildness of your -manner at the hospital was acting, or the chastening effect of three -years under an order book.” - -“A man always likes a woman to be a sheep.” - -“Not at all. But it is rather disconcerting to have a pet lamb turn -round and take a bite out of one.” - -“Will you read the reports now?” - -“I think,” he said quietly, “they would better wait until we have eaten. -We will probably both feel calmer. Suppose we arrange that nothing said -before the oysters counts?” - -I agreed, rather sulkily, and the meal went off well enough. I was -anxious enough to hurry but he ate deliberately, drank his demi-tasse, -paid the waiter, and at last met my impatient eyes and smiled. - -“After all,” he said, “since you are determined to go anyhow, what’s the -use of reading the reports? Inside of an hour you’ll know all you need -to know.” But he saw that I did not take his teasing well, and drew out -his pocketbook. - -They were two typewritten papers clamped together. - -They are on my desk before me now. The first one is indorsed: - - -Statement by Laura J. Bosworth, nurse, of St. Luke’s Home for Graduate -Nurses. - - Miss Bosworth says: - - I do not know just why I came here. But I know I’m frightened. That’s - the fact. I think there is something terribly wrong in the house of - Francis M. Reed, 71 Beauregard Square. I think a crime of some sort - has been committed. There are four people in the family, Mr. and Mrs. - Reed and two children. I was to look after the children. - - I was there four days and the children were never allowed out of the - room. At night we were locked in. I kept wondering what I would do if - there was a fire. The telephone wires are cut so no one can call the - house, and I believe the doorbell is disconnected too. But that’s - fixed now. Mrs. Reed went round all the time with a face like chalk - and her eyes staring. At all hours of the night she’d unlock the - bedroom door and come in and look at the children. - - Almost all the doors through the house were locked. If I wanted to get - to the kitchen to boil eggs for the children’s breakfast—for there - were no servants, and Mrs. Reed was young and didn’t know anything - about cooking—Mr. Reed had to unlock about four doors for me. - - If Mrs. Reed looked bad, he was dreadful—sunken eyed and white and - wouldn’t eat. I think he has killed somebody and is making away with - the body. - - Last night I said I had to have air, and they let me go out. I called - up a friend from a pay-station, another nurse. This morning she sent - me a special-delivery letter that I was needed on another case, and I - got away. That’s all; it sounds foolish, but try it and see if it - doesn’t get on your nerves. - -Mr. Patton looked up at me as he finished reading. - -“Now you see what I mean,” he said. “That woman was there four days, and -she is as temperamental as a cow, but in those four days her nervous -system went to smash.” - -“Doors locked!” I reflected. “Servants gone; state of fear—it looks like -a siege!” - -“But why a trained nurse? Why not a policeman, if there is danger? Why -any one at all, if there is something that the police are not to know?” - -“That is what I intend to find out,” I replied. He shrugged his -shoulders and read the other paper: - - Report of Detective Bennett on Francis M. Reed, April 5, 1913: - - Francis M. Reed is thirty-six years of age, married, a chemist at the - Olympic Paint Works. He has two children, both boys. Has a small - independent income and owns the house on Beauregard Square, which was - built by his grandfather, General F. R. Reed. Is supposed to be living - beyond his means. House is usually full of servants, and grocer in the - neighborhood has had to wait for money several times. - - On March twenty-ninth he dismissed all servants without warning. No - reason given, but a week’s wages instead of notice. - - On March thirtieth he applied to the owners of the paint factory for - two weeks’ vacation. Gave as his reason nervousness and insomnia. He - said he was “going to lay off and get some sleep.” Has not been back - at the works since. House under surveillance this afternoon. No - visitors. - - Mr. Reed telephoned for a nurse at four o’clock from a store on - Eleventh Street. Explained that his telephone was out of order. - -Mr. Patton folded up the papers and thrust them back into his pocket. -Evidently he saw I was determined, for he only said: - -“Have you got your revolver?” - -“Yes.” - -“Do you know anything about telephones? Could you repair that one in an -emergency?” - -“In an emergency,” I retorted, “there is no time to repair a telephone. -But I’ve got a voice and there are windows. If I really put my mind to -it you will hear me yell at headquarters.” - -He smiled grimly. - - - - - II - - -The Reed house is on Beauregard Square. It is a small, exclusive -community, the Beauregard neighborhood; a dozen or more solid citizens -built their homes there in the early 70’s, occupying large lots, the -houses flush with the streets and with gardens behind. Six on one -street, six on another, back to back with the gardens in the center, -they occupied the whole block. And the gardens were not fenced off, but -made a sort of small park unsuspected from the streets. Here and there -bits of flowering shrubbery sketchily outlined a property, but the -general impression was of lawn and trees, free of access to all the -owners. Thus with the square in front and the gardens in the rear, the -Reed house faced in two directions on the early spring green. - -In the gardens the old tar walks were still there, and a fountain which -no longer played, but on whose stone coping I believe the young -Beauregard Squarites made their first climbing ventures. - -The gardens were always alive with birds, and later on from my windows I -learned the reason. It seems to have been a custom sanctified by years, -that the crumbs from the twelve tables should be thrown into the dry -basin of the fountain for the birds. It was a common sight to see -stately butlers and _chic_ little waitresses in black and white coming -out after luncheon or dinner with silver trays of crumbs. Many a scrap -of gossip, as well as scrap of food, has been passed along at the old -stone fountain, I believe. I know that it was there that I heard of the -“basement ghost” of Beauregard Square—a whisper at first, a panic later. - -I arrived at eight o’clock and rang the doorbell twice. The door was -opened at once by Mr. Reed, a tall, blond young man carefully dressed. -He threw away his cigarette when he saw me and shook hands. The hall was -brightly lighted and most cheerful; in fact the whole house was ablaze -with light. Certainly nothing could be less mysterious than the house, -or than the debonair young man who motioned me into the library. - -“I told Mrs. Reed I would talk to you before you go upstairs,” he said. -“Will you sit down?” - -I sat down. The library was even brighter than the hall, and now I saw -that although he smiled as cheerfully as ever his face was almost -colorless, and his eyes, which looked frankly enough into mine for a -moment, went wandering off round the room. I had the impression somehow -that Mr. Patton had had of the nurse at headquarters that morning—that -he looked as if he expected a knife in his back. It seemed to me that he -wanted to look over his shoulder and by sheer will-power did not. - -“You know the rule, Miss Adams,” he said: “When there’s an emergency get -a trained nurse. I told you our emergency—no servants and two small -children.” - -“This should be a good time to secure servants,” I said briskly. “City -houses are being deserted for country places, and a percentage of -servants won’t leave town.” - -He hesitated. - -“We’ve been doing very nicely, although of course it’s hardly more than -just living. Our meals are sent in from a hotel, and—well, we thought, -since we are going away so soon, that perhaps we could manage.” - -The impulse was too strong for him at that moment. He wheeled and looked -behind him, not a hasty glance, but a deliberate inspection that took in -every part of that end of the room. It was so unexpected that it left me -gasping. - -The next moment he was himself again. - -“When I say that there is no illness,” he said, “I am hardly exact. -There is no illness, but there has been an epidemic of children’s -diseases among the Beauregard Square children and we are keeping the -youngsters indoors.” - -“Don’t you think they could be safeguarded without being shut up in the -house?” - -He responded eagerly - -“If I only thought——” he checked himself. “No,” he said decidedly; “for -a time at least I believe it is not wise.” - -I did not argue with him. There was nothing to be gained by antagonizing -him. And as Mrs. Reed came in just then, the subject was dropped. She -was hardly more than a girl, almost as blond as her husband, very -pretty, and with the weariest eyes I have ever seen, unless perhaps the -eyes of a man who has waited a long time for deathly tuberculosis. - -I liked her at once. She did not attempt to smile. She rather clung to -my hand when I held it out. - -“I am glad St. Luke’s still trusts us,” she said. “I was afraid the -other nurse—— Frank, will you take Miss Adams’ suitcase upstairs?” - -She held out a key. He took it, but he turned at the door: - -“I wish you wouldn’t wear those things, Anne. You gave me your promise -yesterday, you remember.” - -“I can’t work round the children in anything else,” she protested. - -“Those things” were charming. She wore a rose silk negligee trimmed with -soft bands of lace and blue satin flowers, a petticoat to match that -garment, and a lace cap. - -He hesitated in the doorway and looked at her—a curious glance, I -thought, full of tenderness, reproof—apprehension perhaps. - -“I’ll take it off, dear,” she replied to the glance. “I wanted Miss -Adams to know that, even if we haven’t a servant in the house, we are at -least civilized. I—I haven’t taken cold.” This last was clearly an -afterthought. - -He went out then and left us together. She came over to me swiftly. - -“What did the other nurse say?” she demanded. - -“I do not know her at all. I have not seen her.” - -“Didn’t she report at the hospital that we were—queer?” - -I smiled. - -“That’s hardly likely, is it?” - -Unexpectedly she went to the door opening into the hall and closed it, -coming back swiftly. - -“Mr. Reed thinks it is not necessary, but—there are some things that -will puzzle you. Perhaps I should have spoken to the other nurse. If—if -anything strikes you as unusual, Miss Adams, just please don’t see it! -It is all right, everything is all right. But something has occurred—not -very much, but disturbing—and we are all of us doing the very best we -can.” - -She was quivering with nervousness. - -I was not the police agent then, I’m afraid. - -“Nurses are accustomed to disturbing things. Perhaps I can help.” - -“You can, by watching the children. That’s the only thing that matters -to me—the children. I don’t want them left alone. If you have to leave -them call me.” - -“Don’t you think I will be able to watch them more intelligently if I -know just what the danger is?” - -I think she very nearly told me. She was so tired, evidently so anxious -to shift her burden to fresh shoulders. - -“Mr. Reed said,” I prompted her, “that there was an epidemic of -children’s diseases. But from what you say——” - -But I was not to learn, after all, for her husband opened the hall door. - -“Yes, children’s diseases,” she said vaguely. “So many children are -down. Shall we go up, Frank?” - -The extraordinary bareness of the house had been dawning on me for some -time. It was well lighted and well furnished. But the floors were -innocent of rugs, the handsome furniture was without arrangement and, in -the library at least, stood huddled in the center of the room. The hall -and stairs were also uncarpeted, but there were marks where carpets had -recently lain and had been jerked up. - -The progress up the staircase was not calculated to soothe my nerves. -The thought of my little revolver, locked in my suitcase, was poor -comfort. For with every four steps or so Mr. Reed, who led the way, -turned automatically and peered into the hallway below; he was -listening, too, his head bent slightly forward. And each time that he -turned, his wife behind me turned also. Cold terror suddenly got me by -the spine, and yet the hall was bright with light. - -(Note: Surely fear is a contagion. Could one isolate the germ of it and -find an antitoxin? Or is it merely a form of nervous activity run amuck, -like a runaway locomotive, colliding with other nervous activities and -causing catastrophe? Take this up with Mr. Patton. But would he know? -He, I am almost sure, has never been really afraid.) - -I had a vision of my oxlike predecessor making this head-over-shoulder -journey up the staircase, and in spite of my nervousness I smiled. But -at that moment Mrs. Reed behind me put a hand on my arm, and I screamed. -I remember yet the way she dropped back against the wall and turned -white. - -Mr. Reed whirled on me instantly. - -“What did you see?” he demanded. - -“Nothing at all.” I was horribly ashamed. “Your wife touched my arm -unexpectedly. I dare say I am nervous.” - -“It’s all right, Anne,” he reassured her. And to me, almost irritably: - -“I thought you nurses had no nerves.” - -“Under ordinary circumstances I have none.” - -It was all ridiculous. We were still on the staircase. - -“Just what do you mean by that?” - -“If you will stop looking down into that hall I’ll be calm enough. You -make me jumpy.” - -He muttered something about being sorry and went on quickly. But at the -top he went through an inward struggle, evidently succumbed, and took a -final furtive survey of the hallway below. I was so wrought up that had -a door slammed anywhere just then I think I should have dropped where I -stood. - -The absolute silence of the house added to the strangeness of the -situation. Beauregard Square is not close to a trolley line, and quiet -is the neighborhood tradition. The first rubber-tired vehicles in the -city drew up before Beauregard Square houses. Beauregard Square children -speak in low voices and never bang their spoons on their plates. -Beauregard Square servants wear felt-soled shoes. And such outside -noises as venture to intrude themselves must filter through double brick -walls and doors built when lumber was selling by the thousand acres -instead of the square foot. - -Through this silence our feet echoed along the bare floor of the upper -hall, as well lighted as belowstairs and as dismantled, to the door of -the day nursery. The door was locked—double locked, in fact. For the key -had been turned in the old-fashioned lock, and in addition an ordinary -bolt had been newly fastened on the outside of the door. On the outside! -Was that to keep me in? It was certainly not to keep any one or anything -out. The feeblest touch moved the bolt. - -We were all three outside the door. We seemed to keep our compactness by -common consent. No one of us left the group willingly; or, leaving it, -we slid back again quickly. That was my impression, at least. But the -bolt rather alarmed me. - -“This is your room,” Mrs. Reed said. “It is generally the day nursery, -but we have put a bed and some other things in it. I hope you will be -comfortable.” - -I touched the bolt with my finger and smiled into Mr. Reed’s eyes. - -“I hope I am not to be fastened in!” I said. - -He looked back squarely enough, but somehow I knew he lied. - -“Certainly not,” he replied, and opened the door. - -If there had been mystery outside, and bareness, the nursery was -charming—a corner room with many windows, hung with the simplest of -nursery papers and full of glass-doored closets filled with orderly rows -of toys. In one corner a small single bed had been added without -spoiling the room. The window-sills were full of flowering plants. There -was a bowl of goldfish on a stand, and a tiny dwarf parrot in a cage was -covered against the night air by a bright afghan. A white-tiled bathroom -connected with this room and also with the night nursery beyond. - -Mr. Reed did not come in, I had an uneasy feeling, however, that he was -just beyond the door. The children were not asleep. Mrs. Reed left me to -let me put on my uniform. When she came back her face was troubled. - -“They are not sleeping well,” she complained. “I suppose it comes from -having no exercise. They are always excited.” - -“I’ll take their temperatures,” I said. “Sometimes a tepid bath and a -cup of hot milk will make them sleep.” - -The two little boys were wide awake. They sat up to look at me and both -spoke at once. - -“Can you tell fairy tales out of your head?” - -“Did you see Chang?” - -They were small, sleek-headed, fair-skinned youngsters, adorably clean -and rumpled. - -“Chang is their dog, a Pekingese,” explained the mother. “He has been -lost for several days.” - -“But he isn’t lost, mother. I can hear him crying every now and then. -You’ll look again, mother, won’t you?” - -“We heard him through the furnace pipe,” shrilled the smaller of the -two. “You said you would look.” - -“I did look, darlings. He isn’t there. And you promised not to cry about -him, Freddie.” - -Freddie, thus put on his honor, protested he was not crying for the dog. - -“I want to go out and take a walk, that’s why I’m crying,” he wailed. -“And I want Mademoiselle, and my buttons are all off. And my ear aches -when I lie on it.” - -The room was close. I threw up the windows, and turned to find Mrs. Reed -at my elbows. She was glancing out apprehensively. - -“I suppose the air is necessary,” she said, “and these windows are all -right. But—I have a reason for asking it—please do not open the others.” - -She went very soon, and I listened as she went out. I had promised to -lock the door behind her, and I did so. The bolt outside was not shot. - -After I had quieted the children with my mildest fairy story I made a -quiet inventory of my new quarters. The rough diagram of the second -floor is the one I gave Mr. Patton later. That night, of course, I -investigated only the two nurseries. But, so strangely had the fear that -hung over the house infected me, I confess that I made my little tour of -bathroom and clothes-closet with my revolver in my hand! - -I found nothing, of course. The disorder of the house had not extended -itself here. The bathroom was spotless with white tile, the large -clothes-closet which opened off the passage between the two rooms was -full of neatly folded clothing for the children. The closet was to play -its part later, a darkish little room faintly lighted by a ground glass -transom opening into the center hall, but dependent mostly on electric -light. - -Outside the windows Mrs. Reed had asked me not to open was a -porte-cochère roof almost level with the sills. Then was it an outside -intruder she feared? And in that case, why the bolts on the outside of -the two nursery doors? For the night nursery, I found, must have one -also. I turned the key, but the door would not open. - -I decided not to try to sleep that night, but to keep on watch. So -powerfully had the mother’s anxiety about her children and their -mysterious danger impressed me that I made frequent excursions into the -back room. Up to midnight there was nothing whatever to alarm me. I -darkened both rooms and sat, waiting for I know not what; for some sound -to show that the house stirred, perhaps. At a few minutes after twelve -faint noises penetrated to my room from the hall, Mr. Reed’s nervous -voice and a piece of furniture scraping over the floor. Then silence -again for half an hour or so. - -Then—I was quite certain that the bolt on my door had been shot. I did -not hear it, I think. Perhaps I felt it. Perhaps I only feared it. I -unlocked the door; it was fastened outside. - -There is a hideous feeling of helplessness about being locked in. I -pretended to myself at first that I was only interested and curious. But -I was frightened; I know that now. I sat there in the dark and wondered -what I would do if the house took fire, or if some hideous tragedy -enacted itself outside that locked door and I were helpless. - -By two o’clock I had worked myself into a panic. The house was no longer -silent. Some one was moving about downstairs, and not stealthily. The -sounds came up through the heavy joists and flooring of the old house. - -I determined to make at least a struggle to free myself. There was no -way to get at the bolts, of course. The porte-cochère roof remained and -the transom in the clothes-closet. True, I might have raised an alarm -and been freed at once, but naturally I rejected this method. The roof -of the porte-cochère proved impracticable. The tin bent and cracked -under my first step. The transom then. - -I carried a chair into the closet and found the transom easy to lower. -But it threatened to creak. I put liquid soap on the hinges—it was all I -had, and it worked very well—and lowered the transom inch by inch. Even -then I could not see over it. I had worked so far without a sound, but -in climbing to a shelf my foot slipped and I thought I heard a sharp -movement outside. It was five minutes before I stirred. I hung there, -every muscle cramped, listening and waiting. Then I lifted myself by -sheer force of muscle and looked out. The upper landing of the -staircase, brilliantly lighted, was to my right. Across the head of the -stairs had been pushed a cotbed, made up for the night, but it was -unoccupied. - -Mrs. Reed, in a long, dark ulster, was standing beside it, staring with -fixed and glassy eyes at something in the lower hall. - - - - - III - - -Some time after four o’clock my door was unlocked from without; the bolt -slipped as noiselessly as it had been shot. I got a little sleep until -seven, when the boys trotted into my room in their bathrobes and -slippers and perched on my bed. - -“It’s a nice day,” observed Harry, the elder. “Is that bump your feet?” - -I wriggled my toes and assured him he had surmised correctly. - -“You’re pretty long, aren’t you? Do you think we can play in the -fountain to-day?” - -“We’ll make a try for it, son. It will do us all good to get out into -the sunshine.” - -“We always took Chang for a walk every day, Mademoiselle and Chang and -Freddie and I.” - -Freddie had found my cap on the dressing table and had put it on his -yellow head. But now, on hearing the beloved name of his pet, he burst -into loud grief-stricken howls. - -“Want Mam’selle,” he cried. “Want Chang too. Poor Freddie!” - -The children were adorable. I bathed and dressed them and, mindful of my -predecessor’s story of crackers and milk, prepared for an excursion -kitchenward. The nights might be full of mystery, murder might romp from -room to room, but I intended to see that the youngsters breakfasted. But -before I was ready to go down breakfast arrived. - -Perhaps the other nurse had told the Reeds a few plain truths before she -left; perhaps, and this I think was the case, the cloud had lifted just -a little. Whatever it may have been, two rather flushed and blistered -young people tapped at the door that morning and were admitted, Mr. Reed -first, with a tray, Mrs. Reed following with a coffee-pot and cream. - -The little nursery table was small for five, but we made room somehow. -What if the eggs were underdone and the toast dry? The children munched -blissfully. What if Mr. Reed’s face was still drawn and haggard and his -wife a limp little huddle on the floor? She sat with her head against -his knee and her eyes on the little boys, and drank her pale coffee -slowly. She was very tired, poor thing. She dropped asleep sitting -there, and he sat for a long time, not liking to disturb her. - -It made me feel homesick for the home I didn’t have. I’ve had the same -feeling before, of being a rank outsider, a sort of defrauded feeling. -I’ve had it when I’ve seen the look in a man’s eyes when his wife -comes-to after an operation. And I’ve had it, for that matter, when I’ve -put a new baby in its mother’s arms for the first time. I had it for -sure that morning, while she slept there and he stroked her pretty hair. - -I put in my plea for the children then. - -“It’s bright and sunny,” I argued. “And if you are nervous I’ll keep -them away from other children. But if you want to keep them well you -must give them exercise.” - -It was the argument about keeping them well that influenced him, I -think. He sat silent for a long time. His wife was still asleep, her -lips parted. - -“Very well,” he said finally, “from two to three, Miss Adams. But not in -the garden back of the house. Take them on the street.” - -I agreed to that. - -“I shall want a short walk every evening myself,” I added. “That is a -rule of mine. I am a more useful person and a more agreeable one if I -have it.” - -I think he would have demurred if he dared. But one does not easily deny -so sane a request. He yielded grudgingly. - -That first day was calm and quiet enough. Had it not been for the -strange condition of the house and the necessity for keeping the -children locked in I would have smiled at my terror of the night. -Luncheon was sent in; so was dinner. The children and I lunched and -supped alone. As far as I could see, Mrs. Reed made no attempt at -housework; but the cot at the head of the stairs disappeared in the -early morning and the dog did not howl again. - -I took the boys out for an hour in the early afternoon. Two incidents -occurred, both of them significant. I bought myself a screw driver—that -was one. The other was our meeting with a slender young woman in black -who knew the boys and stopped them. She proved to be one of the -dismissed servants—the waitress, she said. - -“Why, Freddie!” she cried. “And Harry too! Aren’t you going to speak to -Nora?” - -After a moment or two she turned to me, and I felt she wanted to say -something, but hardly dared. - -“How is Mrs. Reed?” she asked. “Not sick, I hope?” - -She glanced at my St. Luke’s cloak and bonnet. - -“No, she is quite well.” - -“And Mr. Reed?” - -“Quite well also.” - -“Is Mademoiselle still there?” - -“No, there is no one there but the family. There are no maids in the -house.” - -She stared at me curiously. - -“Mademoiselle has gone? Are you cer—— Excuse me, Miss. But I thought she -would never go. The children were like her own.” - -“She is not there, Nora.” - -She stood for a moment debating, I thought. Then she burst out: - -“Mr. Reed made a mistake, miss. You can’t take a houseful of first-class -servants and dismiss them the way he did, without half an hour to get -out bag and baggage, without making talk. And there’s talk enough all -through the neighborhood.” - -“What sort of talk?” - -“Different people say different things. They say Mademoiselle is still -there, locked in her room on the third floor. There’s a light there -sometimes, but nobody sees her. And other folks say Mr. Reed is crazy. -And there is worse being said than that.” - -But she refused to tell me any more—evidently concluded she had said too -much and got away as quickly as she could, looking rather worried. - -I was a trifle over my hour getting back, but nothing was said. To leave -the clean and tidy street for the disordered house was not pleasant. But -once in the children’s suite, with the goldfish in the aquarium darting -like tongues of flame in the sunlight, with the tulips and hyacinths of -the window-boxes glowing and the orderly toys on their white shelves, I -felt comforted. After all, disorder and dust did not imply crime. - -But one thing I did that afternoon—did it with firmness and no attempt -at secrecy, and after asking permission of no one. I took the new screw -driver and unfastened the bolt from the outside of my door. - -I was prepared, if necessary, to make a stand on that issue. But -although it was noticed, I knew, no mention of it was made to me. - -Mrs. Reed pleaded a headache that evening, and I believe her husband ate -alone in the dismantled dining room. For every room on the lower floor, -I had discovered, was in the same curious disorder. - -At seven Mr. Reed relieved me to go out. The children were in bed. He -did not go into the day nursery, but placed a straight chair outside the -door of the back room and sat there, bent over, elbows on knees, chin -cupped in his palm, staring at the staircase. He roused enough to ask me -to bring an evening paper when I returned. - -When I am on a department case I always take my off-duty in the evening -by arrangement and walk round the block. Some time in my walk I am sure -to see Mr. Patton himself if the case is big enough, or one of his -agents if he cannot come. If I have nothing to communicate it resolves -itself into a bow and nothing more. - -I was nervous on this particular jaunt. For one thing my St. Luke’s -cloak and bonnet marked me at once, made me conspicuous; for another, I -was afraid Mr. Patton would think the Reed house no place for a woman -and order me home. - -It was a quarter to eight and quite dark before he fell into step beside -me. - -“Well,” I replied rather shakily; “I’m still alive, as you see.” - -“Then it is pretty bad?” - -“It’s exceedingly queer,” I admitted, and told my story. I had meant to -conceal the bolt on the outside of my door, and one or two other things, -but I blurted them all out right then and there, and felt a lot better -at once. - -He listened intently. - -“It’s fear of the deadliest sort,” I finished. - -“Fear of the police?” - -“I—I think not. It is fear of something in the house. They are always -listening and watching at the top of the front stairs. They have lifted -all the carpets, so that every footstep echoes through the whole house. -Mrs. Reed goes down to the first door, but never alone. To-day I found -that the back staircase is locked off at top and bottom. There are -doors.” - -I gave him my rough diagram of the house. It was too dark to see it. - -“It is only tentative,” I explained. “So much of the house is locked up, -and every movement of mine is under surveillance. Without baths there -are about twelve large rooms, counting the third floor. I’ve not been -able to get there, but I thought that to-night I’d try to look about.” - -“You had no sleep last night?” - -“Three hours—from four to seven this morning.” - -We had crossed into the public square and were walking slowly under the -trees. Now he stopped and faced me. - -“I don’t like the look of it, Miss Adams,” he said. “Ordinary panic goes -and hides. But here’s a fear that knows what it’s afraid of and takes -methodical steps for protection. I didn’t want you to take the case, you -know that; but now I’m not going to insult you by asking you to give it -up. But I’m going to see that you are protected. There will be some one -across the street every night as long as you are in the house.” - -“Have you any theory?” I asked him. He is not strong for theories -generally. He is very practical. “That is, do you think the other nurse -was right and there is some sort of crime being concealed?” - -“Well, think about it,” he prompted me. “If a murder has been committed, -what are they afraid of? The police? Then why a trained nurse and all -this caution about the children? A ghost? Would they lift the carpets so -that they could hear the specter tramping about?” - -“If there is no crime, but something—a lunatic perhaps?” I asked. - -“Possibly. But then why this secrecy and keeping out the police? It is, -of course, possible that your respected employers have both gone off -mentally, and the whole thing is a nightmare delusion. On my word it -sounds like it. But it’s too much for credulity to believe they’ve both -gone crazy with the same form of delusion.” - -“Perhaps I’m the lunatic,” I said despairingly. “When you reduce it like -that to an absurdity I wonder if I didn’t imagine it all, the lights -burning everywhere and the carpets up, and Mrs. Reed staring down the -staircase, and I locked in a room and hanging on by my nails to peer out -through a closet transom.” - -“Perhaps. But how about the deadly sane young woman who preceded you? -She had no imagination. Now about Reed and his wife—how do they strike -you? They get along all right and that sort of thing, I suppose?” - -“They are nice people,” I said emphatically. “He’s a gentleman and -they’re devoted. He just looks like a big boy who’s got into an awful -mess and doesn’t know how to get out. And she’s backing him up. She’s a -dear.” - -“Humph!” said Mr. Patton. “Don’t suppress any evidence because she’s a -dear and he’s a handsome big boy!” - -“I didn’t say he was handsome,” I snapped. - -“Did you ever see a ghost or think you saw one?” he inquired suddenly. - -“No, but one of my aunts has. Hers always carry their heads. She asked -one a question once and the head nodded.” - -“Then you believe in things of that sort?” - -“Not a particle—but I’m afraid of them.” - -He smiled, and shortly after that I went back to the house. I think he -was sorry about the ghost question, for he explained that he had been -trying me out, and that I looked well in my cloak and bonnet. - -“I’m afraid of your chin generally,” he said; “but the white lawn ties -have a softening effect. In view of the ties I have almost the -courage——” - -“Yes?” - -“I think not, after all.” he decided. “The chin is there, ties or no -ties. Good-night, and—for heaven’s sake don’t run any unnecessary -risks.” - -The change from his facetious tone to earnestness was so unexpected that -I was still standing there on the pavement when he plunged into the -darkness of the square and disappeared. - - - - - IV - - -At ten minutes after eight I was back in the house. Mr. Reed admitted -me, going through the tedious process of unlocking outer and inner -vestibule doors and fastening them again behind me. He inquired politely -if I had had a pleasant walk, and without waiting for my reply fell to -reading the evening paper. He seemed to have forgotten me absolutely. -First he scanned the headlines; then he turned feverishly to something -farther on and ran his fingers down along a column. His lips were -twitching, but evidently he did not find what he expected—or feared—for -he threw the paper away and did not glance at it again. I watched him -from the angle of the stairs. - -Even for that short interval Mrs. Reed had taken his place at the -children’s door. - -She wore a black dress, long sleeved and high at the throat, instead of -the silk negligee of the previous evening, and she held a book. But she -was not reading. She smiled rather wistfully when she saw me. - -“How fresh you always look!” she said. “And so self-reliant. I wish I -had your courage.” - -“I am perfectly well. I dare say that explains a lot. Kiddies asleep?” - -“Freddie isn’t. He has been crying for Chang. I hate night, Miss Adams. -I’m like Freddie. All my troubles come up about this time. I’m horribly -depressed.” - -Her blue eyes filled with tears. - -“I haven’t been sleeping well,” she confessed. - -I should think not! - -Without taking off my things I went down to Mr. Reed in the lower hall. - -“I’m going to insist on something,” I said. “Mrs. Reed is highly -nervous. She says she has not been sleeping. I think if I give her an -opiate and she gets an entire night’s sleep it may save her a -breakdown.” - -I looked straight in his eyes, and for once he did evade me. - -“I’m afraid I’ve been very selfish,” he said. “Of course she must have -sleep. I’ll give you a powder, unless you have something you prefer to -use.” - -I remembered then that he was a chemist, and said I would gladly use -whatever he gave me. - -“There is another thing I wanted to speak about, Mr. Reed,” I said. “The -children are mourning their dog. Don’t you think he may have been -accidentally shut up somewhere in the house in one of the upper floors?” - -“Why do you say that?” he demanded sharply. - -“They say they have heard him howling.” - -He hesitated for barely a moment. Then: - -“Possibly,” he said. “But they will not hear him again. The little chap -has been sick, and he—died to-day. Of course the boys are not to know.” - - -No one watched the staircase that night. I gave Mrs. Reed the opiate and -saw her comfortably into bed. When I went back fifteen minutes later she -was resting, but not asleep. Opiates sometimes make people garrulous for -a little while—sheer comfort, perhaps, and relaxed tension. I’ve had -stockbrokers and bankers in the hospital give me tips, after a -hypodermic of morphia, that would have made me wealthy had I not been -limited to my training allowance of twelve dollars a month. - -“I was just wondering,” she said as I tucked her up, “where a woman owes -the most allegiance—to her husband or to her children?” - -“Why not split it up,” I said cheerfully, “and try doing what seems best -for both?” - -“But that’s only a compromise!” she complained, and was asleep almost -immediately. I lowered the light and closed the door, and shortly after -I heard Mr. Reed locking it from the outside. - -With the bolt off my door and Mrs. Reed asleep my plan for the night was -easily carried out. I went to bed for a couple of hours and slept -calmly. I awakened once with the feeling that some one was looking at me -from the passage into the night nursery, but there was no one there. -However, so strong had been the feeling that I got up and went into the -back room. The children were asleep, and all doors opening into the hall -were locked. But the window on to the porte-cochère roof was open and -the curtain blowing. There was no one on the roof. - -It was not twelve o’clock and I still had an hour. I went back to bed. - -At one I prepared to make a thorough search of the house. Looking from -one of my windows I thought I saw the shadowy figure of a man across the -street, and I was comforted. Help was always close, I felt. And yet, as -I stood inside my door in my rubber-soled shoes, with my ulster over my -uniform and a revolver and my skeleton keys in my pockets, my heart was -going very fast. The stupid story of the ghost came back and made me -shudder, and the next instant I was remembering Mrs. Reed the night -before, staring down into the lower hall with fixed glassy eyes. - -My plan was to begin at the top of the house and work down. The thing -was the more hazardous, of course, because Mr. Reed was most certainly -somewhere about. I had no excuse for being on the third floor. Down -below I could say I wanted tea, or hot water—anything. But I did not -expect to find Mr. Reed up above. The terror, whatever it was, seemed to -lie below. - -Access to the third floor was not easy. The main staircase did not go -up. To get there I was obliged to unlock the door at the rear of the -hall with my own keys. I was working in bright light, trying my keys one -after another, and watching over my shoulder as I did so. When the door -finally gave it was a relief to slip into the darkness beyond, ghosts or -no ghosts. - -I am always a silent worker. Caution about closing doors and squeaking -hinges is second nature to me. One learns to be cautious when one’s only -chance of sleep is not to rouse a peevish patient and have to give a -body-massage, as like as not, or listen to domestic troubles—“I said” -and “he said”—until one is almost crazy. - -So I made no noise. I closed the door behind me and stood blinking in -the darkness. I listened. There was no sound above or below. Now houses -at night have no terror for me. Every nurse is obliged to do more or -less going about in the dark. But I was not easy. Suppose Mr. Reed -should call me? True, I had locked my door and had the key in my pocket. -But a dozen emergencies flew through my mind as I felt for the stair -rail. - -There was a curious odor through all the back staircase, a pungent, -aromatic scent that, with all my familiarity with drugs, was strange to -me. As I slowly climbed the stairs it grew more powerful. The air was -heavy with it, as though no windows had been opened in that part of the -house. There was no door at the top of this staircase, as there was on -the second floor. It opened into an upper hall, and across from the head -of the stairs was a door leading into a room. This door was closed. On -this staircase, as on all the others, the carpet had been newly lifted. -My electric flash showed the white boards and painted borders, the -carpet tacks, many of them still in place. One, lying loose, penetrated -my rubber sole and went into my foot. - -I sat down in the dark and took off the shoe. As I did so my flash, on -the step beside me, rolled over and down with a crash. I caught it on -the next step, but the noise had been like a pistol shot. - -Almost immediately a voice spoke above me sharply. At first I thought it -was out in the upper hall. Then I realized that the closed door was -between it and me. - -“Ees that you, Meester Reed?” - -Mademoiselle! - -“Meester Reed!” plaintively. “Eet comes up again, Meester Reed! I die! -To-morrow I die!” - -She listened. On no reply coming she began to groan rhythmically, to a -curious accompaniment of creaking. When I had gathered up my nerves -again I realized that she must be sitting in a rocking chair. The groans -were really little plaintive grunts. - -By the time I had got my shoe on she was up again, and I could hear her -pacing the room, the heavy step of a woman well fleshed and not young. -Now and then she stopped inside the door and listened; once she shook -the knob and mumbled querulously to herself. - -I recovered the flash, and with infinite caution worked my way to the -top of the stairs. Mademoiselle was locked in, doubly bolted in. Two -strong bolts, above and below, supplemented the door lock. - -Her ears must have been very quick, or else she felt my softly padding -feet on the boards outside, for suddenly she flung herself against the -door and begged for a priest, begged piteously, in jumbled French and -English. She wanted food; she was dying of hunger. She wanted a priest. - -And all the while I stood outside the door and wondered what I should -do. Should I release the woman? Should I go down to the lower floor and -get the detective across the street to come in and force the door? Was -this the terror that held the house in thrall—this babbling old -Frenchwoman calling for food and a priest in one breath? - -Surely not. This was a part of the mystery, not all. The real terror lay -below. It was not Mademoiselle, locked in her room on the upper floor, -that the Reeds waited for at the top of the stairs. But why was -Mademoiselle locked in her room? Why were the children locked in? What -was this thing that had turned a home into a jail, a barracks, that had -sent away the servants, imprisoned and probably killed the dog, sapped -the joy of life from two young people? What was it that Mademoiselle -cried “comes up again”? - -I looked toward the staircase. Was it coming up the staircase? - -I am not afraid of the thing I can see, but it seemed to me, all at -once, that if anything was going to come up the staircase I might as -well get down first. A staircase is no place to meet anything, -especially if one doesn’t know what it is. - -I listened again. Mademoiselle was quiet. I flashed my light down the -narrow stairs. They were quite empty. I shut off the flash and went -down. I tried to go slowly, to retreat with dignity, and by the time I -had reached the landing below I was heartily ashamed of myself. Was this -shivering girl the young woman Mr. Patton called his right hand? - -I dare say I should have stopped there, for that night at least. My -nerves were frayed. But I forced myself on. The mystery lay below. Well, -then, I was going down. It could not be so terrible. At least it was -nothing supernatural. There must be a natural explanation. And then that -silly story about the headless things must pop into my head and start me -down trembling. - -The lower rear staircase was black dark, like the upper, but just at the -foot a light came in through a barred window. I could see it plainly and -the shadows of the iron grating on the bare floor. I stood there -listening. There was not a sound. - -It was not easy to tell exactly what followed. I stood there with my -hand on the rail. I’d been very silent; my rubber shoes attended to -that. And one moment the staircase was clear, with a patch of light at -the bottom. The next, something was there, half way down—a head, it -seemed to be, with a pointed hood like a monk’s cowl. There was no body. -It seemed to lie at my feet. But it was living. It moved. I could tell -the moment when the eyes lifted and saw my feet, the slow back-tilting -of the head as they followed up my body. All the air was squeezed out of -my lungs; a heavy hand seemed to press on my chest. I remember raising a -shaking hand and flinging my flashlight at the head. The flash clattered -on the stair tread harmless. Then the head was gone and something living -slid over my foot. - -I stumbled back to my room and locked the door. It was two hours before -I had strength enough to get my aromatic ammonia bottle. - - - - - V - - -It seemed to me that I had hardly dropped asleep before the children -were in the room, clamoring. - -“The goldfish are dead!” Harry said, standing soberly by the bed. “They -are all dead with their stummicks turned up.” - -I sat up. My head ached violently. - -“They can’t be dead, old chap.” I was feeling about for my kimono, but I -remembered that when I had found my way back to the nursery after my -fright on the back stairs I had lain down in my uniform. I crawled out, -hardly able to stand. “We gave them fresh water yesterday, and——” - -I had got to the aquarium. Harry was right. The little darting flames of -pink and gold were still. They floated about, rolling gently as Freddie -prodded them with a forefinger, dull eyed, pale bellies upturned. In his -cage above the little parrot watched out of a crooked eye. - -I ran to the medicine closet in the bathroom. Freddie had a weakness for -administering medicine. I had only just rescued the parrot from the -result of his curiosity and a headache tablet the day before. - -“What did you give them?” I demanded. - -“Bread,” said Freddie stoutly. - -“Only bread?” - -“Dirty bread,” Harry put in. “I told him it was dirty.” - -“Where did you get it?” - -“On the roof of the porte-cochère!” - -Shade of Montessori! The rascals had been out on that sloping tin roof. -It turned me rather sick to think of it. - -Accused, they admitted it frankly. - -“I unlocked the window,” Harry said, “and Freddie got the bread. It was -out in the gutter. He slipped once.” - -“Almost went over and made a squash on the pavement,” added Freddie. “We -gave the little fishes the bread for breakfast, and now they’re gone to -God.” - -The bread had contained poison, of course. Even the two little snails -that crawled over the sand in the aquarium were motionless. I sniffed -the water. It had a slightly foreign odor. I did not recognize it. - -Panic seized me then. I wanted to get away and take the children with -me. The situation was too hideous. But it was still early. I could only -wait until the family roused. In the meantime, however, I made a -nerve-racking excursion out on to the tin roof and down to the gutter. -There was no more of the bread there. The porte-cochère was at the side -of the house. As I stood balancing myself perilously on the edge, -summoning my courage to climb back to the window above, I suddenly -remembered the guard Mr. Patton had promised and glanced toward the -square. - -The guard was still there. More than that, he was running across the -street toward me. It was Mr. Patton himself. He brought up between the -two houses with absolute fury in his face. - -“Go back!” he waved. “What are you doing out there anyhow? That roof’s -as slippery as the devil!” - -I turned meekly and crawled back with as much dignity as I could. I did -not say anything. There was nothing I could bawl from the roof. I could -only close and lock the window and hope that the people in the next -house still slept. Mr. Patton must have gone shortly after, for I did -not see him again. - -I wondered if he had relieved the night watch, or if he could possibly -have been on guard himself all that chilly April night. - -Mr. Reed did not breakfast with us. I made a point of being cheerful -before the children, and their mother was rested and brighter than I had -seen her. But more than once I found her staring at me in a puzzled way. -She asked me if I had slept. - -“I wakened only once,” she said. “I thought I heard a crash of some -sort. Did you hear it?” - -“What sort of a crash?” I evaded. - -The children had forgotten the goldfish for a time. Now they remembered -and clamored their news to her. - -“Dead?” she said, and looked at me. - -“Poisoned,” I explained. “I shall nail the windows over the -porte-cochère shut, Mrs. Reed. The boys got out there early this morning -and picked up something—bread, I believe. They fed it to the fish -and—they are dead.” - -All the light went out of her face. She looked tired and harassed as she -got up. - -“I wanted to nail the window,” she said vaguely, “but Mr. Reed—— Suppose -they had eaten that bread, Miss Adams, instead of giving it to the -fish!” - -The same thought had chilled me with horror. We gazed at each other over -the unconscious heads of the children and my heart ached for her. I made -a sudden resolution. - -“When I first came,” I said to her, “I told you I wanted to help. That’s -what I’m here for. But how am I to help either you or the children when -I do not know what danger it is that threatens? It isn’t fair to you, or -to them, or even to me.” - -She was much shaken by the poison incident. I thought she wavered. - -“Are you afraid the children will be stolen?” - -“Oh, no.” - -“Or hurt in any way?” I was thinking of the bread on the roof. - -“No.” - -“But you are afraid of something?” - -Harry looked up suddenly. - -“Mother’s never afraid,” he said stoutly. - -I sent them both in to see if the fish were still dead. - -“There is something in the house downstairs that you are afraid of?” I -persisted. - -She took a step forward and caught my arm. - -“I had no idea it would be like this, Miss Adams. I’m dying of fear!” - -I had a quick vision of the swathed head on the back staircase, and some -of my night’s terror came back to me. I believe we stared at each other -with dilated pupils for a moment. Then I asked: - -“Is it a real thing?—surely you can tell me this. Are you afraid of a -reality, or—is it something supernatural?” I was ashamed of the -question. It sounded so absurd in the broad light of that April morning. - -“It is a real danger,” she replied. Then I think she decided that she -had gone as far as she dared, and I went through the ceremony of letting -her out and of locking the door behind her. - -The day was warm. I threw up some of the windows and the boys and I -played ball, using a rolled handkerchief. My part, being to sit on the -floor with a newspaper folded into a bat and to bang at the handkerchief -as it flew past me, became automatic after a time. - -As I look back I see a pair of disordered young rascals in Russian -blouses and bare round knees doing a great deal of yelling and some very -crooked throwing; a nurse sitting tailor fashion on the floor, -alternately ducking to save her cap and making vigorous but ineffectual -passes at the ball with her newspaper bat. And I see sunshine in the -room and the dwarf parrot eating sugar out of his claw. And below, the -fish in the aquarium floating belly-up with dull eyes. - -Mr. Reed brought up our luncheon tray. He looked tired and depressed and -avoided my eyes. I watched him while I spread the bread and butter for -the children. He nailed shut the windows that opened on to the -porte-cochère roof and when he thought I was not looking he examined the -registers in the wall to see if the gratings were closed. The boys put -the dead fish in a box and made him promise a decent interment in the -garden. They called on me for an epitaph, and I scrawled on top of the -box: - - _These fish are dead - Because a boy called Fred - Went out on a porch roof when he should - Have been in bed._ - -I was much pleased with it. It seemed to me that an epitaph, which can -do no good to the departed, should at least convey a moral. But to my -horror Freddie broke into loud wails and would not be comforted. - -It was three o’clock, therefore, before they were both settled for their -afternoon naps and I was free. I had determined to do one thing, and to -do it in daylight—to examine the back staircase inch by inch. I knew I -would be courting discovery, but the thing had to be done, and no power -on earth would have made me essay such an investigation after dark. - -It was all well enough for me to say to myself that there was a natural -explanation; that this had been a human head, of a certainty; that -something living and not spectral had slid over my foot in the darkness. -I would not have gone back there again at night for youth, love or -money. But I did not investigate the staircase that day, after all. - -I made a curious discovery after the boys had settled down in their -small white beds. A venturesome fly had sailed in through an open -window, and I was immediately in pursuit of him with my paper bat. -Driven from the cornice to the chandelier, harried here, swatted there, -finally he took refuge inside the furnace register. - -Perhaps it is my training—I used to know how many million germs a fly -packed about with it, and the generous benevolence with which it -distributed them; I’ve forgotten—but the sight of a single fly maddens -me. I said that to Mr. Patton once, and he asked what the sight of a -married one would do. So I sat down by the register and waited. It was -then that I made the curious discovery that the furnace belowstairs was -burning, and burning hard. A fierce heat assailed me as I opened the -grating. I drove the fly out of cover, but I had no time for him. The -furnace going full on a warm spring day! It was strange. - -Perhaps I was stupid. Perhaps the whole thing should have been clear to -me. But it was not. I sat there bewildered and tried to figure it out. I -went over it point by point: - -The carpets up all over the house, lights going full all night and doors -locked. - -The cot at the top of the stairs and Mrs. Reed staring down. - -The bolt outside my door to lock me in. - -The death of Chang. - -Mademoiselle locked in her room upstairs and begging for a priest. - -The poison on the porch roof. - -The head without a body on the staircase and the thing that slid over my -foot. - -The furnace going, and the thing I recognized as I sat there beside the -register—the unmistakable odor of burning cloth. - -Should I have known? I wonder. It looks so clear to me now. - -I did not investigate the staircase, for the simple reason that my -skeleton key, which unfastened the lock of the door at the rear of the -second-floor hall, did not open the door. I did not understand at once -and stood stupidly working with the lock. The door was bolted on the -other side. I wandered as aimlessly as I could down the main staircase -and tried the corresponding door on the lower floor. It, too, was -locked. Here was an _impasse_ for sure. As far as I could discover the -only other entrance to the back staircase was through the window with -the iron grating. - -As I turned to go back I saw my electric flash, badly broken, lying on a -table in the hall. I did not claim it. - -The lower floor seemed entirely deserted. The drawing room and library -were in their usual disorder, undusted and bare of floor. The air -everywhere was close and heavy; there was not a window open. I sauntered -through the various rooms, picked up a book in the library as an excuse -and tried the door of the room behind. It was locked. I thought at first -that something moved behind it, but if anything lived there it did not -stir again. And yet I had a vivid impression that just on the other side -of the door ears as keen as mine were listening. It was broad day, but I -backed away from the door and out into the wide hall. My nerves were -still raw, no doubt, from the night before. - -I was to meet Mr. Patton at half after seven that night, and when Mrs. -Reed relieved me at seven I had half an hour to myself. I spent it in -Beauregard Gardens, with the dry fountain in the center. The place -itself was charming, the trees still black but lightly fringed with new -green, early spring flowers in the borders, neat paths and, bordering it -all, the solid, dignified backs of the Beauregard houses. I sat down on -the coping of the fountain and surveyed the Reed house. Those windows -above were Mademoiselle’s. The shades were drawn, but no light came -through or round them. The prisoner—for prisoner she was by every rule -of bolt and lock—must be sitting in the dark. Was she still begging for -her priest? Had she had any food? Was she still listening inside her -door for whatever it was that was “coming up”? - -In all the other houses windows were open; curtains waved gently in the -spring air; the cheerful signs of the dinner hour were evident near -by—moving servants, a gleam of stately shirt bosom as a butler mixed a -salad, a warm radiance of candle-light from dining room tables and the -reflected glow of flowers. Only the Reed house stood gloomy, unlighted, -almost sinister. - -Beauregard Place dined early. It was one of the traditions, I believe. -It liked to get to the theater or the opera early, and it believed in -allowing the servants a little time in the evenings. So, although it was -only something after seven, the evening rite of the table crumbs began -to be observed. Came a colored butler, bowed to me with a word of -apology, and dumped the contents of a silver tray into the basin; came a -pretty mulatto, flung her crumbs gracefully and smiled with a flash of -teeth at the butler. - -Then for five minutes I was alone. - -It was Nora, the girl we had met on the street, who came next. She saw -me and came round to me with a little air of triumph. - -“Well, I’m back in the square again, after all, miss,” she said. “And a -better place than the Reeds. I don’t have the doilies to do.” - -“I’m very glad you are settled again, Nora.” - -She lowered her voice. - -“I’m just trying it out,” she observed. “The girl that left said I -wouldn’t stay. She was scared off. There have been some queer doings—not -that I believe in ghosts or anything like that. But my mother in the old -country had the second-sight, and if there’s anything going on I’ll be -right sure to see it.” - -It took encouragement to get her story, and it was secondhand at that, -of course. But it appeared that a state of panic had seized the -Beauregard servants. The alarm was all belowstairs and had been started -by a cook who, coming in late and going to the basement to prepare -herself a cup of tea, had found her kitchen door locked and a light -going beyond. Suspecting another maid of violating the tea canister she -had gone soft-footed to the outside of the house and had distinctly seen -a gray figure crouching in a corner of the room. She had called the -butler, and they had made an examination of the entire basement without -result. Nothing was missing from the house. - -“And that figure has been seen again and again, miss,” Nora finished. -“McKenna’s butler Joseph saw it in this very spot, walking without a -sound and the street light beyond there shining straight through it. -Over in the Smythe house the laundress, coming in late and going down to -the basement to soak her clothes for the morning, met the thing on the -basement staircase and fainted dead away.” - -I had listened intently. - -“What do they think it is?” I asked. - -She shrugged her shoulders and picked up her tray. - -“I’m not trying to say and I guess nobody is. But if there’s been a -murder it’s pretty well known that the ghost walks about until the -burial service is read and it’s properly buried.” - -She glanced at the Reed house. - -“For instance,” she demanded, “where is Mademoiselle?” - -“She is alive,” I said rather sharply. “And even if what you say were -true, what in the world would make her wander about the basements? It -seems so silly, Nora, a ghost haunting damp cellars and laundries with -stationary tubs and all that.” - -“Well,” she contended, “it seems silly for them to sit on cold -tombstones—and yet that’s where they generally sit, isn’t it?” - - -Mr. Patton listened gravely to my story that night. - -“I don’t like it,” he said when I had finished. “Of course the head on -the staircase is nonsense. Your nerves were ragged and our eyes play -tricks on all of us. But as for the Frenchwoman——” - -“If you accept her you must accept the head,” I snapped. “It was -there—it was a head without a body and it looked up at me.” - -We were walking through a quiet street, and he bent over and caught my -wrist. - -“Pulse racing,” he commented. “I’m going to take you away, that’s -certain. I can’t afford to lose my best assistant. You’re too close, -Miss Adams; you’ve lost your perspective.” - -“I’ve lost my temper!” I retorted. “I shall not leave until I know what -this thing is, unless you choose to ring the doorbell and tell them I’m -a spy.” - -He gave in when he saw that I was firm, but not without a final protest. - -“I’m directly responsible for you to your friends,” he said. “There’s -probably a young man somewhere who will come gunning for me if anything -happens to you. And I don’t care to be gunned for. I get enough of that -in my regular line.” - -“There is no young man,” I said shortly. - -“Have you been able to see the cellars?” - -“No, everything is locked off.” - -“Do you think the rear staircase goes all the way down?” - -“I haven’t the slightest idea.” - -“You are in the house. Have you any suggestions as to the best method of -getting into the house? Is Reed on guard all night?” - -“I think he is.” - -“It may interest you to know,” he said finally, “that I sent a reliable -man to break in there last night quietly, and that he—couldn’t do it. He -got a leg through a cellar window, and came near not getting it out -again. Reed was just inside in the dark.” He laughed a little, but I -guessed that the thing galled him. - -“I do not believe that he would have found anything if he had succeeded -in getting in. There has been no crime, Mr. Patton, I am sure of that. -But there is a menace of some sort in the house.” - -“Then why does Mrs. Reed stay and keep the children if there is danger?” - -“I believe she is afraid to leave him. There are times when I think that -he is desperate.” - -“Does he ever leave the house?” - -“I think not, unless——” - -“Yes?” - -“Unless he is the basement ghost of the other houses.” - -He stopped in his slow walk and considered it. - -“It’s possible. In that case I could have him waylaid tonight in the -gardens and left there, tied. It would be a hold-up, you understand. The -police have no excuse for coming in yet. Or, if we found him breaking -into one of the other houses we could get him there. He’d be released, -of course, but it would give us time. I want to clean the thing up. I’m -not easy while you are in that house.” - -We agreed that I was to wait inside one of my windows that night, and -that on a given signal I should go down and open the front door. The -whole thing, of course, was contingent on Mr. Reed leaving the house -some time that night. It was only a chance. - -“The house is barred like a fortress,” Mr. Patton said as he left me. -“The window with the grating is hopeless. We tried it last night.” - - - - - VI - - -I find that my notes of that last night in the house on Beauregard -Square are rather confused, some written at the time, some just before. -For instance, on the edge of a newspaper clipping I find this: - -“Evidently this is the item. R—— went pale on reading it. Did not allow -wife to see paper.” - -The clipping is an account of the sudden death of an elderly gentleman -named Smythe, one of the Beauregard families. - -The next clipping is less hasty and is on a yellow symptom record. It -has been much folded—I believe I tucked it in my apron belt: - -“If the rear staircase is bolted everywhere from the inside, how did the -person who locked it, either Mr. or Mrs. Reed, get back into the body of -the house again? Or did Mademoiselle do it? In that case she is no -longer a prisoner and the bolts outside her room are not fastened. - -“At eleven o’clock tonight Harry wakened with earache. I went to the -kitchen to heat some mullein oil and laudanum. Mrs. Reed was with the -boy and Mr. Reed was not in sight. I slipped into the library and used -my skeleton keys on the locked door to the rear room. It was empty even -of furniture, but there is a huge box there, with a lid that fastens -down with steel hooks. The lid is full of small airholes. I had no time -to examine further. - -“It is one o’clock. Harry is asleep and his mother is dozing across the -foot of his bed. I have found the way to get to the rear staircase. -There are outside steps from the basement to the garden. The staircase -goes down all the way to the cellar evidently. Then the lower door in -the cellar must be only locked, not bolted from the inside. I shall try -to get to the cellar.” - -The next is a scrawl: - -“Cannot get to the outside basement steps. Mr. Reed is wandering round -lower floor. I reported Harry’s condition and came up again. I must get -to the back staircase.” - -I wonder if I have been able to convey, even faintly, the situation in -that highly respectable old house that night: The fear that hung over -it, a fear so great that even I, an outsider and stout of nerve, felt it -and grew cold; the unnatural brilliancy of light that bespoke dread of -the dark; the hushed voices, the locked doors and staring, peering eyes; -the babbling Frenchwoman on an upper floor, the dead fish, the dead dog. -And, always in my mind, that vision of dread on the back staircase and -the thing that slid over my foot. - -At two o’clock I saw Mr. Patton, or whoever was on guard in the park -across the street, walk quickly toward the house and disappear round the -corner toward the gardens in the rear. There had been no signal, but I -felt sure that Mr. Reed had left the house. His wife was still asleep -across Harry’s bed. As I went out I locked the door behind me, and I -took also the key to the night nursery. I thought that something -disagreeable, to say the least, was inevitable, and why let her in for -it? - -The lower hall was lighted as usual and empty. I listened, but there -were no restless footsteps. I did not like the lower hall. Only a thin -wooden door stood between me and the rear staircase, and any one who -thinks about the matter will realize that a door is no barrier to a head -that can move about without a body. I am afraid I looked over my -shoulder while I unlocked the front door, and I know I breathed better -when I was out in the air. - -I wore my dark ulster over my uniform and I had my revolver and keys. My -flash, of course, was useless. I missed it horribly. But to get to the -staircase was an obsession by that time, in spite of my fear of it, to -find what it guarded, to solve its mystery. I worked round the house, -keeping close to the wall, until I reached the garden. The night was the -city night, never absolutely dark. As I hesitated at the top of the -basement steps it seemed to me that figures were moving about among the -trees. - -The basement door was unlocked and open. I was not prepared for that, -and it made me, if anything, more uneasy. I had a box of matches with -me, and I wanted light as a starving man wants food. But I dared not -light them. I could only keep a tight grip on my courage and go on. A -small passage first, with whitewashed stone walls, cold and scaly under -my hand; then a large room, and still darkness. Worse than darkness, -something crawling and scratching round the floor. - -I struck my match, then, and it seemed to me that something white -flashed into a corner and disappeared. My hands were shaking, but I -managed to light a gas jet and to see that I was in the laundry. The -staircase came down here, narrower than above, and closed off with a -door. - -The door was closed and there was a heavy bolt on it but no lock. - -And now, with the staircase accessible and a gaslight to keep up my -courage, I grew brave, almost reckless. I would tell Mr. Patton all -about this cellar, which his best men had not been able to enter. I -would make a sketch for him—coal-bins, laundry tubs, everything. -Foolish, of course, but hold the gas jet responsible—the reckless -bravery of light after hideous darkness. - -So I went on, forward. The glow from the laundry followed me. I struck -matches, found potatoes and cases of mineral water, bruised my knees on -a discarded bicycle, stumbled over a box of soap. Twice out of the -corner of my eye and never there when I looked I caught the white flash -that had frightened me before. Then at last I brought up before a door -and stopped. It was a curiously barricaded door, nailed against -disturbance by a plank fastened across, and, as if to make intrusion -without discovery impossible, pasted round every crack and over the -keyhole with strips of strong yellow paper. It was an ominous door. I -wanted to run away from it, and I wanted also desperately to stand and -look at it and imagine what might lie beyond. Here again was the -strange, spicy odor that I had noticed in the back staircase. - -I think it is indicative of my state of mind that I backed away from the -door. I did not turn and run. Nothing in the world would have made me -turn my back to it. - -Somehow or other I got back into the laundry and jerked myself together. - -It was ten minutes after two. I had been just ten minutes in the -basement! - -The staircase daunted me in my shaken condition. I made excuses for -delaying my venture, looked for another box of matches, listened at the -end of the passage, finally slid the bolts and opened the door. The -silence was impressive. In the laundry there were small, familiar -sounds—the dripping of water from a faucet, the muffled measure of a gas -meter, the ticking of a clock on the shelf. To leave it all, to climb -into that silence—— - -Lying on the lower step was a curious instrument. It was a sort of tongs -made of steel, about two feet long, and fastened together like a pair of -scissors, the joint about five inches from the flattened ends. I carried -it to the light and examined it. One end was smeared with blood and -short, brownish hairs. It made me shudder, but—from that time on I think -I knew. Not the whole story, of course, but somewhere in the back of my -head, as I climbed in that hideous quiet, the explanation was developing -itself. I did not think it out. It worked itself out as, step after -step, match after match, I climbed the staircase. - -Up to the first floor there was nothing. The landing was bare of carpet. -I was on the first floor now. On each side, doors, carefully bolted, led -into the house. I opened the one into the hall and listened. I had been -gone from the children fifteen minutes and they were on my mind. But -everything was quiet. - -The sight of the lights and the familiar hall gave me courage. After -all, if I was right, what could the head on the staircase have been but -an optical delusion? And I was right. The evidence—the tongs—was in my -hand. I closed and bolted the door and felt my way back to the stairs. I -lighted no matches this time. I had only a few, and on this landing -there was a little light from the grated window, although the staircase -above was in black shadow. - -I had one foot on the lowest stair, when suddenly overhead came the -thudding of hands on a closed door. It broke the silence like an -explosion. It sent chills up and down my spine. I could not move for a -moment. It was the Frenchwoman! - -I believe I thought of fire. The idea had obsessed me in that house of -locked doors. I remember a strangling weight of fright on my chest and -of trying to breathe. Then I started up the staircase, running as fast -as I could lift my weighted feet, I remember that, and getting up -perhaps a third of the way. Then there came a plunging forward into -space, my hands out, a shriek frozen on my lips, and——quiet. - -I do not think I fainted. I know I was always conscious of my arm -doubled under me, a pain and darkness. I could hear myself moaning, but -almost as if it were some one else. There were other sounds, but they -did not concern me much. I was not even curious about my location. I -seemed to be a very small consciousness surrounded by a great deal of -pain. - -Several centuries later a light came and leaned over me from somewhere -above. Then the light said: - -“Here she is!” - -“Alive?” I knew that voice, but I could not think whose it was. - -“I’m not—— Yes, she’s moaning.” - -They got me out somewhere and I believe I still clung to the tongs. I -had fallen on them and had a cut on my chin. I could stand, I found, -although I swayed. There was plenty of light now in the back hallway, -and a man I had never seen was investigating the staircase. - -“Four steps off,” he said. “Risers and treads gone and the supports -sawed away. It’s a trap of some sort.” - -Mr. Patton was examining my broken arm and paid no attention. The man -let himself down into the pit under the staircase. When he straightened, -only his head rose above the steps. Although I was white with pain to -the very lips I laughed hysterically. - -“The head!” I cried. Mr. Patton swore under his breath. - - -They half led, half carried me into the library. Mr. Reed was there, -with a detective on guard over him. He was sitting in his old position, -bent forward, chin in palms. In the blaze of light he was a pitiable -figure, smeared with dust, disheveled from what had evidently been a -struggle. Mr. Patton put me in a chair and dispatched one of the two men -for the nearest doctor. - -“This young lady,” he said curtly to Mr. Reed, “fell into that damnable -trap you made in the rear staircase.” - -“I locked off the staircase—but I am sorry she is hurt. My—my wife will -be shocked. Only I wish you’d tell me what all this is about. You can’t -arrest me for going into a friend’s house.” - -“If I send for some member of the Smythe family will they acquit you?” - -“Certainly they will,” he said. “I—I’ve been raised with the Smythes. -You can send for any one you like.” But his tone lacked conviction. - -Mr. Patton made me as comfortable as possible, and then, sending the -remaining detective out into the hall, he turned to his prisoner. - -“Now, Mr. Reed,” he said. “I want you to be sensible. For some days a -figure has been seen in the basements of the various Beauregard houses. -Your friends, the Smythes, reported it. Tonight we are on watch, and we -see you breaking into the basement of the Smythe house. We already know -some curious things about you, such as dismissing all the servants on -half an hour’s notice and the disappearance of the French governess.” - -“Mademoiselle! Why, she——” He checked himself. - -“When we bring you here tonight, and you ask to be allowed to go -upstairs and prepare your wife, she is locked in. The nurse is missing. -We find her at last, also locked away and badly hurt, lying in a -staircase trap, where some one, probably yourself, has removed the -steps. I do not want to arrest you, but, now I’ve started, I’m going to -get to the bottom of all this.” - -Mr. Reed was ghastly, but he straightened in his chair. - -“The Smythes reported this thing, did they?” he asked. “Well, tell me -one thing. What killed the old gentleman—old Smythe?” - -“I don’t know.” - -“Well, go a little further.” His cunning was boyish, pitiful. “How did -he die? Or don’t you know that either?” - -Up to this point I had been rather a detached part of the scene, but now -my eyes fell on the tongs beside me. - -“Mr. Reed,” I said, “isn’t this thing too big for you to handle by -yourself?” - -“What thing?” - -“You know what I mean. You’ve protected yourself well enough, but even -if the—the thing you know of did not kill old Mr. Smythe you cannot tell -what will happen next.” - -“I’ve got almost all of them,” he muttered sullenly. “Another night or -two and I’d have had the lot.” - -“But even then the mischief may go on. It means a crusade; it means -rousing the city. Isn’t it the square thing now to spread the alarm?” - -Mr. Patton could stand the suspense no longer. - -“Perhaps, Miss Adams,” he said, “you will be good enough to let me know -what you are talking about.” - -Mr. Reed looked up at him with heavy eyes. - -“Rats,” he said. “They got away, twenty of them, loaded with bubonic -plague.” - - -I went to the hospital the next morning. Mr. Patton thought it best. -There was no one in my little flat to look after me, and although the -pain in my arm subsided after the fracture was set I was still shaken. - -He came the next afternoon to see me. I was propped up in bed, with my -hair braided down in two pigtails and great hollows under my eyes. - -“I’m comfortable enough,” I said, in response to his inquiry; “but I’m -feeling all of my years. This is my birthday. I am thirty today.” - -“I wonder,” he said reflectively, “if I ever reach the mature age of one -hundred, if I will carry in my head as many odds and ends of information -as you have at thirty!” - -“I?” - -“You. How in the world did you know, for instance, about those tongs?” - -“It was quite simple. I’d seen something like them in the laboratory -here. Of course I didn’t know what animals he’d used, but the grayish -brown hair looked like rats. The laboratory must be the cellar room. I -knew it had been fumigated—it was sealed with paper, even over the -keyhole.” - -So, sitting there beside me, Mr. Patton told me the story as he had got -it from Mr. Reed—a tale of the offer in an English scientific journal of -a large reward from some plague-ridden country of the East for an -anti-plague serum. Mr. Reed had been working along bacteriological lines -in his basement laboratory, mostly with guinea pigs and tuberculosis. He -was in debt; the offer loomed large. - -“He seems to think he was on the right track,” Mr. Patton said. “He had -twenty of the creatures in deep zinc cans with perforated lids. He says -the disease is spread by fleas that infest the rats. So he had muslin as -well over the lids. One can had infected rats, six of them. Then one day -the Frenchwoman tried to give the dog a bath in a laundry tub and the -dog bolted. The laboratory door was open in some way and he ran between -the cans, upsetting them. Every rat was out in an instant. The -Frenchwoman was frantic. She shut the door and tried to drive the things -back. One bit her on the foot. The dog was not bitten, but there was the -question of fleas. - -“Well, the rats got away, and Mademoiselle retired to her room to die of -plague. She was a loyal old soul; she wouldn’t let them call a doctor. -It would mean exposure, and after all what could the doctors do? Reed -used his serum and she’s alive. - -“Reed was frantic. His wife would not leave. There was the Frenchwoman -to look after, and I think she was afraid he would do something -desperate. They did the best they could, under the circumstances, for -the children. They burned most of the carpets for fear of fleas, and put -poison everywhere. Of course he had traps too. - -“He had brass tags on the necks of the rats, and he got back a few—the -uninfected ones. The other ones were probably dead. But he couldn’t stop -at that. He had to be sure that the trouble had not spread. And to add -to their horror the sewer along the street was being relaid, and they -had an influx of rats into the house. They found them everywhere in the -lower floor. They even climbed the stairs. He says that the night you -came he caught a big fellow on the front staircase. There was always the -danger that the fleas that carry the trouble had deserted the dead -creatures for new fields. They took up all the rest of the carpets and -burned them. To add to the general misery the dog Chang developed -unmistakable symptoms and had to be killed.” - -“But the broken staircase?” I asked. “And what was it that Mademoiselle -said was coming up?” - -“The steps were up for two reasons: The rats could not climb up, and -beneath the steps Reed says he caught in a trap two of the tagged ones. -As for Mademoiselle the thing that was coming up was her -temperature—pure fright. The head you saw was poor Reed himself, wrapped -in gauze against trouble and baiting his traps. He caught a lot in the -neighbors’ cellars and some in the garden.” - -“But why,” I demanded, “why didn’t he make it all known?” - -Mr. Patton laughed while he shrugged his shoulders. - -“A man hardly cares to announce that he has menaced the health of a -city.” - -“But that night when I fell—was it only last night?—some one was -pounding above. I thought there was a fire.” - -“The Frenchwoman had seen us waylay Reed from her window. She was -crazy.” - -“And the trouble is over now?” - -“Not at all,” he replied cheerfully. “The trouble may be only beginning. -We’re keeping Reed’s name out, but the Board of Health has issued a -general warning. Personally I think his six pets died without passing -anything along.” - -“But there was a big box with a lid——” - -“Ferrets,” he assured me. “Nice white ferrets with pink eyes and a taste -for rats.” He held out a thumb, carefully bandaged. “Reed had a couple -under his coat when we took him in the garden. Probably one ran over -your foot that night when you surprised him on the back staircase.” - -I went pale. “But if they are infected!” I cried; “and you are bitten——” - -“The first thing a nurse should learn,” he bent forward smiling, “is not -to alarm her patient.” - -“But you don’t understand the danger,” I said despairingly. “Oh, if only -men had a little bit of sense!” - -“I must do something desperate then? Have the thumb cut off, perhaps?” - -I did not answer. I lay back on my pillows with my eyes shut. I had -given him the plague, had seen him die and be buried, before he spoke -again. - -“The chin,” he said, “is not so firm as I had thought. The outlines are -savage, but the dimple—— You poor little thing; are you really -frightened?” - -“I don’t like you,” I said furiously. “But I’d hate to see any one -with—with that trouble.” - -“Then I’ll confess. I was trying to take your mind off your troubles. -The bite is there, but harmless. Those were new ferrets; had never been -out.” - -I did not speak to him again. I was seething with indignation. He stood -for a time looking down at me; then, unexpectedly, he bent over and -touched his lips to my bandaged arm. - -“Poor arm!” he said. “Poor, brave little arm!” Then he tiptoed out of -the room. 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