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| author | www-data <www-data@mail.pglaf.org> | 2026-03-30 09:43:47 -0700 |
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| committer | www-data <www-data@mail.pglaf.org> | 2026-03-30 09:43:47 -0700 |
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diff --git a/78323-h/78323-h.htm b/78323-h/78323-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f45438f --- /dev/null +++ b/78323-h/78323-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,11989 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <title> + Dark power | Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> + +/* Headers and Divisions */ + h1, h2, h3, h4 {margin:4em 0em 1em 0em; page-break-before:always; text-align:center;} + +/* General */ + + body {margin:0% 5% 0% 5%;} + + p {margin:0em 0em 0em 0em; text-align:justify; text-indent:1em;} + .center {margin:0em 0em 0em 0em; text-align:center; text-indent:0em;} + .noindent {text-indent:0em;} + .spacer {margin:0.5em 0em 0.5em 0em; text-align:center; text-indent:0em;} + + .toc_l {font-variant:small-caps; margin:0em 0em 0em 2em; text-indent:-2em;} + + .rt1 {margin:0em 1em 0em 0em; text-align:right; text-indent:0em;} + + .chap_sub {font-size:80%;} + .sc {font-variant:small-caps;} + +/* special formatting */ + + blockquote {margin:1em 2em 1em 2em;} + + .mt1 {margin-top:1em;} + .mt4 {margin-top:4em;} + +</style> +</head> +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78323 ***</div> + +<h1> +DARK<br> +POWER +</h1> + +<p class="center"> +ELISABETH<br> +SANXAY<br> +HOLDING +</p> + +<p class="center mt4"> +NEW YORK<br> +THE VANGUARD PRESS +</p> + + +<h2> +[COPYRIGHT] +</h2> + +<p class="center"> +COPYRIGHT, 1930, BY THE VANGUARD PRESS +</p> + + +<h2> +CONTENTS +</h2> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch01">I.--A RESCUE</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch02">II.--DI BREAKS A PROMISE</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch03">III.--DI MAKES UP HER MIND TO LEAVE</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch04">IV.--DI MAKES A PROMISE</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch05">V.--MRS. FRICK’S GENTLEMAN</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch06">VI.--A DISAPPEARANCE</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch07">VII.--THE MONSTROUS NIGHT</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch08">VIII.--THE CANDID EXPLANATION</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch09">IX.--“DO NOT LEAVE THIS HOUSE”</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch10">X.--THE FORBIDDEN ROOM</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch11">XI.--DI GETS ANOTHER LETTER</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch12">XII.--“YOU ARE LIKE HER”</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch13">XIII.--A WILL IS MADE</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch14">XIV.--MILES CONFESSES</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch15">XV.--A WHITE FIGURE</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch16">XVI.--“IT’S OVER”</a> +</p> + + +<h2> +DARK POWER +</h2> + + +<h3 id="ch01"> +Chapter One.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">A Rescue</span> +</h3> + +<p> +Once more Di went through the house. Everything was in immaculate +order, yet it had somehow the look of a place that had been savagely +looted and was now abandoned and forlorn. All the bureau tops were +swept bare, all the tables; in every room there were great gaps, where +Angelina’s flamboyant things had been. +</p> + +<p> +Angelina’s own room was simply horrible. Standing in the doorway, Di +felt the tears rise in her eyes at the sight of that desolate neatness +where only yesterday there had been such wild and joyous disorder. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m—tired,” she said to herself, to excuse her weakness. +</p> + +<p> +And she had reason to be tired. Angelina’s wedding had been like a +cyclone, and Di had been whirled along like a leaf in the gale. She +had done everything for Angelina; she had seen the caterers and +arranged for the wedding breakfast, she had sent out the invitations, +had listed the presents and engaged detectives to keep an eye on them. +She had stood for hours while Angelina’s dresses were fitted upon her, +she had packed Angelina’s trunks and bags. And she had interviewed the +reporters. +</p> + +<p> +There had been plenty of reporters, for Angelina’s wedding had been +sensational, like everything else she did. The newspapers recalled to +their readers the past exploits of the beautiful Angelina Herbert, her +marriage at eighteen to Hiram Herbert, a millionaire of sixty, her +suit for divorce three years later, charging her husband with artful +“mental cruelty,” her trip through Borneo all alone—except for a +cousin, a secretary, a camera-man and one or two others—her attempt +to fly in her own plane to Mexico that had ended in a crash near +Asheville. +</p> + +<p> +This second marriage of hers was very satisfactory for newspapers. She +had married young Porter Blessington, another millionaire, who had +spent six months in prison for assaulting an officer in the discharge +of his duties, during a little fracas in a night club. She had gone in +her car to meet him as he came out of jail and they were married the +next week. +</p> + +<p> +Set down in black and white, these things did not appeal to Di; if she +had merely read about her in the newspapers, she would have thought +Angelina a pretty objectionable type. But in actual life she had loved +her. +</p> + +<p> +“She just—forgot,” she said to herself. +</p> + +<p> +Just a little oversight on the part of the beautiful Angelina, to go +off and leave Di without a penny. She had meant to do something regal, +to make a lavish gift, but she had forgotten even to write the +promised letter of recommendation that would help in getting another +job. +</p> + +<p> +With a sigh, she was closing the door of that desolately neat room, +when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror of the +dressing-table. That image depressed her. She was pretty enough in a +way, but it was not a way that anyone noticed; a slender, fair-haired +girl with blue eyes and a detached, absent-minded air. She had exactly +suited Angelina, because she was intelligent and well-bred, and +marvelously patient, but there was only one Angelina. Other people +would require different qualities in a secretary, more skill in +shorthand and typing, a more business-like presence; other people +would dislike her queer, cool little air of reserve. She knew, because +before she had come to Angelina a year ago, she had gone about looking +for a job. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve had more experience now,” she thought. “I’m not <i>quite</i> such a +fool now.” +</p> + +<p> +Only, in her heart, she wasn’t so sure of that. Would anyone but a +hopeless fool be in a situation like this? Another secretary would +have reminded Angelina of the salary due her, of the letter of +recommendation. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps she’ll remember and send me a check,” thought Di. +</p> + +<p> +In her own room she put on her hat and coat and went downstairs. Her +trunk stood there, and her bag, and on the hall-table was a great mass +of flowers which had yesterday decorated the drawing-room. +</p> + +<p> +“Connor’s late,” she thought. +</p> + +<p> +Naturally Connor, Angelina’s superb chauffeur, would not put himself +out for Di. He was stopping for her as a favor; his term of service +was over, and the car was to be put into storage that afternoon. But +she had to wait for him, because in her purse there was only one +solitary quarter, not enough to get her trunk expressed. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll find <i>something</i> to do to-morrow,” she told herself. +</p> + +<p> +But though she was resolute enough, she was not too hopeful. So many +things had happened to her; she had known so many anxieties and +sorrows. Even as a child, care had weighed upon her. Her father had +been a clever and remarkably unsuccessful man, and she had had to +share his vicissitudes. +</p> + +<p> +“I make a <i>friend</i> of you, Di,” he often said. “I don’t put myself on +a pedestal, like the average father. We’re friends—pals.” +</p> + +<p> +Only, she had been such a very young friend, such a bewildered pal. It +had been rather hard to hear about troubles which she could not help +or even quite understand. Worst of all, he had sometimes talked to Di +about her mother, in a tone of noble generosity. +</p> + +<p> +“She was a fine woman, Di,” he would say, “but she never understood +me. Well—it was probably my own fault. I never could plead my own +cause… I tell you, Di, a good woman can be pretty hard. <i>Damned</i> hard, +sometimes.” +</p> + +<p> +Di had not enjoyed this. Her mother had died when she was four, but +she had not forgotten her. And it was then, in those troubled +childhood days, that she had developed her aloof reserve. She had +learned to listen and to say nothing. +</p> + +<p> +Her father had, apparently, intended never to die. For he had loved +his child, in his way, and he would surely not have wanted to leave +her without a penny, with no friends, with no preparation for life but +a queer, patchy education from various small private schools. But he +had died, and here she was. +</p> + +<p> +“Plenty of girls are alone in the world,” said Di to herself. “They +almost always are, in books… I’ll get a job to-morrow, all right.” +</p> + +<p> +The bell rang and she opened the door. It was Connor with a cigarette +between his lips, sign of his perfect independence. +</p> + +<p> +“Ready?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Di. “Can you manage my trunk?” +</p> + +<p> +“Sure!” he said, with lofty good-humor. +</p> + +<p> +It was certainly not very large or very heavy; he got it down the +steps and strapped it on behind the car. +</p> + +<p> +“Come on, Miss!” he called. +</p> + +<p> +Di was still in the hall. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought we could just leave these flowers at St. Vincent’s +Hospital,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“Haven’t got time,” said Connor. +</p> + +<p> +She was in no position to argue the point just then, so she left the +flowers, taking only a small bouquet for herself, and started down the +steps. And met a young man running up. +</p> + +<p> +He stopped at the sight of her, and took off his hat. +</p> + +<p> +“Hello!” he said. “Am I too late? Show all over?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t quite—” she began, puzzled. +</p> + +<p> +“The wedding,” he explained. “Angelina’s wedding.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was yesterday,” said Di, looking at him with considerable +curiosity. For he had not the appearance of one of those casual, +careless people who forget dates or come late. He was a good-looking +young fellow, dark, very erect, very neat, and there was about him a +remarkable air of cool, composed energy. +</p> + +<p> +“Sorry!” he said. “May I have one of these? Little souvenir…” And +stooping, he took a gardenia from the bouquet she carried. For a +moment their eyes met; then, with a smile he turned and ran down the +steps again and set off along the street at a rapid, easy pace. +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder who <i>he</i> was?” thought Di, and forgot him as soon as she got +into the car. +</p> + +<p> +She had telephoned that morning to the landlady of the rooming-house +where she had spent a horrible month before she had got her job with +Angelina, and the landlady had said there was a vacant room she could +have, at seven dollars a week. She had highly unpleasant memories of +that house, but she did not know where else to go. +</p> + +<p> +“And Mrs. Frick knows me,” she thought. “If I went to a strange place, +I’d be expected to pay in advance.” +</p> + +<p> +The house was downtown in Greenwich Village, but there was nothing +Bohemian about it, a dingy old house and very respectable. Mrs. Frick +was looking out of the window, and saw Di arrive, in a Rolls-Royce +driven by a chauffeur in uniform, and carrying the most expensive sort +of flowers. +</p> + +<p> +“Hm—…” said Mrs. Frick to herself. +</p> + +<p> +She opened the front door, with a faint, faint smile, and Connor +brought in the trunk. +</p> + +<p> +“Top floor!” said Mrs. Frick. +</p> + +<p> +Connor immediately hated her. +</p> + +<p> +“Is zat so?” he said. “Then you better call a couple o’ butlers. +Good-bye, Miss Leonard!” +</p> + +<p> +The door banged after him. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Mrs. Frick. “<i>I</i> haven’t got anyone here to take that +trunk up all those stairs.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll—find someone,” said Di. “Top floor, did you say?” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Frick led the way upstairs, three long flights, and opened a +door. It was the meanest little room, the chilliest, most depressing +little room in the gray light of a February morning. +</p> + +<p> +“I hope I shan’t have to stay here long,” thought Di. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Frick was standing in the doorway. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s a clean towel,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I see, thank you,” said Di, longing to shut the door. +</p> + +<p> +“I told you on the telephone, didn’t I?” said Mrs. Frick. “This room +is seven dollars a week.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, you did,” said Di. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Frick stood there. And, in desperation, Di said what so many +other people had said to Mrs. Frick. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m—expecting a check. If you don’t mind waiting a few days—” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Frick remembered the Rolls-Royce and the chauffeur and was not +moved to pity. +</p> + +<p> +“If you’ll make a deposit—” she said. +</p> + +<p> +And it was impossible for Di to appeal to her. Her old habit of +reserve kept her silent, her sorry experience of life made her expect +no kindness and ask for none. +</p> + +<p> +A bell rang downstairs. +</p> + +<p> +“Excuse me a moment!” said Mrs. Frick. “I’ll be right back.” +</p> + +<p> +As her footsteps died away, Di closed the door quietly, laid the +flowers on the bureau and clenched her hands. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Think</i>, you idiot!” she said to herself. “Hurry up! It’s your last +chance! … I’ll tell her she can keep the trunk until I get some money. +I couldn’t get it away from her, anyhow, without paying someone to +move it.” +</p> + +<p> +Then Mrs. Frick might want to look in the trunk and would find there +some of Angelina’s discarded dresses, some photographs, a few +books—not a collection likely to appeal to her. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll help with the housework,” thought Di. “Make the +beds—sweep—anything she wants, until I get a check from Angelina, or +a job.” +</p> + +<p> +She heard Mrs. Frick coming up the stairs now, and she went out to +meet her. +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Frick,” she began, “I’ve been—” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s a gentleman to see you,” said Mrs. Frick. “Your uncle.” +</p> + +<p> +“My uncle?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s what he <i>says</i>. Your uncle,” Mrs. Frick repeated, frigidly. +</p> + +<p> +“But it’s a mistake!” said Di. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Frick smiled faintly. +</p> + +<p> +“He can’t mean me—” +</p> + +<p> +“He asked for Miss Leonard, and I told him,” said Mrs. Frick, “that +you were just leaving.” +</p> + +<p> +“Look here!” said Di. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sorry,” said Mrs. Frick, “but I just remembered I’d promised this +room to somebody else. You might try at 280. They sometimes—” +</p> + +<p> +“All right,” said Di, briefly, and went past Mrs. Frick, down the +stairs. There in the lower hall stood her trunk. +</p> + +<p> +“What can I do with it?” she thought. “If I leave it here, nobody will +let me come without paying in advance. And I can’t get it moved for a +quarter…” +</p> + +<p> +And at that moment she learned a new fact. She saw that shelter was +more important than food. If she only had a room, she could have faced +hunger with fortitude; it seemed to her that she could even starve +without complaining if only she had decent privacy for it. +</p> + +<p> +“There must be places…” she thought, “but I’ve never heard of them. +Perhaps I could ask—a policeman—” +</p> + +<p> +She heard Mrs. Frick coming down behind her, and she moved toward the +front door; her hand was on the knob before she remembered that uncle. +He was so obviously mistaken that it did not seem worth the trouble to +go into the parlor and explain to him that she was the wrong Miss +Leonard. She went, only because it meant a little delay in leaving the +house. +</p> + +<p> +Opening the door, she found a man in there, a little oddity in a +checked suit too large for him, and yellow shoes and a bright tie, a +sporting outfit that accorded well with his lean, nutcracker face. He +jumped up nimbly and stared at her. +</p> + +<p> +“Well!” he said. “This Diana… ? Poor old Harvey’s girl…” +</p> + +<p> +She was too much surprised to speak. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m your uncle Peter,” he continued. “You’ll have heard your father +speak of me.” +</p> + +<p> +Di colored a little. She had heard her father speak of his family as a +unit—“the most contemptible, heartless crew that ever +breathed”—remarks like that. She had even heard him mention a +brother, but not by the name of “Peter”! He had used other names… +</p> + +<p> +The sporting little man sighed. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes…” he said. “Poor Harvey… Well! When we heard that he’d passed +away, we wanted to get in touch with you, but we couldn’t find you. +Only yesterday we saw in the papers all about the wedding of this Mrs. +What’s-Her-Name—mentioned a secretary—Miss Diana Leonard. That’s +poor Harvey’s girl, says I, so I telephoned the house half an hour ago +and I was told you’d just left, to come here. So… !” +</p> + +<p> +He smiled and she smiled back at him. +</p> + +<p> +“I see you’ve got your hat on,” he said. “In a hurry? No? Well, your +Aunt Emma—her idea was—perhaps you’d come to us—act as her +secretary, with the usual financial arrangement, y’know. Scientific +work, y’know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, thank you. I <i>should</i> like it very much,” said Di. +</p> + +<p> +He seemed a little startled by this very prompt acceptance. +</p> + +<p> +“Well!” he said. “That’s excellent! Excellent! … Now, when could you +come? Next week?” +</p> + +<p> +“I can come—before that,” said Di, a little unsteadily. +</p> + +<p> +“Any day that suits you—” +</p> + +<p> +“I can come—to-day,” said Di. “I was just leaving here, anyhow, and I +hadn’t exactly decided where to go. I—” +</p> + +<p> +“Excellent!” he said, with a quick glance at her. “You wouldn’t care +to come at once, would you? If you would, I could drive you down. Got +my li’l’ car outside.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I <i>could</i>,” said Di. +</p> + +<p> +“Excellent,” said he. “I’ll wait while you pack.” +</p> + +<p> +“Everything’s packed. I have a bag… My trunk can wait.” +</p> + +<p> +She did not care what happened to the trunk. Let Mrs. Frick throw it +down the steps into the street; nothing mattered as long as she could +get away from here, could have a roof over her head until she had time +to breathe. +</p> + +<p> +“If it’s not too big I can take it,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Here it is—in the hall.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can manage that!” said he. +</p> + +<p> +Di took up her bag; then she remembered the flowers. +</p> + +<p> +“Just a moment, please!” she said, and ran up the stairs. +</p> + +<p> +On the first landing she almost collided with Mrs. Frick. With a hasty +apology she was about to go on up, when Mrs. Frick stopped her. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Leonard! You’re never going off with that man!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I am,” said Di. “He’s my uncle.” +</p> + +<p> +“You said he couldn’t be. You said it was a mistake.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it wasn’t, after all.” +</p> + +<p> +“Now, see here!” said Mrs. Frick earnestly. “Don’t you do it, Miss +Leonard! I’m sorry I was so hasty. You just forget what I said and +stay on here.” +</p> + +<p> +Di was startled and touched by this tone. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s awfully nice of you!” she said. “But, you see, I might not get +my check for some time, and I might not find a job, either, for weeks. +I was—pretty worried. I only have twenty-five cents—” +</p> + +<p> +“Why didn’t you <i>tell</i> me that?” cried Mrs. Frick. +</p> + +<p> +“No use bothering you about it,” said Di. “And anyhow, it’s all right +now. I’m going to stay with my Aunt and Uncle—” +</p> + +<p> +“Where?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know. I didn’t think to ask.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you go!” said Mrs. Frick. “I don’t believe he’s your uncle?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, but he is!” said Di. “He knows all about me and my father… And +why on earth should he pretend to be, if he isn’t? I’m not exactly an +heiress.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you go!” repeated Mrs. Frick. “You’re young. You don’t know +what people there are in this world.” +</p> + +<p> +“But nobody could possibly have any reason—He’s taking my trunk now. +I hear him.” +</p> + +<p> +They both looked over the bannisters and saw the sporting little man +handling the trunk with surprising ease. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, dear!” cried Mrs. Frick. “I don’t like this! Stay here—” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m awfully sorry, but you see—” +</p> + +<p> +“Then ring me up!” said Mrs. Frick. “Promise to ring me up as soon as +you get there, and give me the address.” +</p> + +<p> +“I promise!” said Di. +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch02"> +Chapter Two.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">Di Breaks a Promise</span> +</h3> + +<p> +It was a good car, and this uncle was a good driver. +</p> + +<p> +“And I’m afraid I’ve got soft,” thought Di. “Demoralized. For I really +don’t care much where I’m going if only I don’t have to struggle for a +while. Or perhaps I’m just tired.” +</p> + +<p> +Whatever it was, she was well content to sit back in the little car, +to feel the Spring wind in her face, to look at the streets in the +bright morning sun. +</p> + +<p> +“Poor Mrs. Frick!” she thought. “So suspicious… <i>What</i> would she have +thought of Angelina?” +</p> + +<p> +Her uncle did no talking in the city traffic, but after they were out +of that, and headed toward Pelham, he began: +</p> + +<p> +“Your Aunt Emma,” he said. “Y’know—very remarkable woman. Very!” +</p> + +<p> +“Is she?” said Di, politely. +</p> + +<p> +“Very!” he assured her. “She’s a professor. And a doctor.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” +</p> + +<p> +“Psychology,” he said. “And so on. It’s all too deep for me… But…” He +was silent for a time. “Did your father ever tell you anything about +her?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think I remember his mentioning her,” said Di, who remembered very +well that her father had occasionally mentioned a sister who was, he +had said, “hard as nails.” +</p> + +<p> +“Too bad!” her uncle continued. “But poor old Harvey couldn’t seem to +hit it off with the rest of us. Always <i>was</i> like that. I hope he +never said anything to set you against us?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no!” said Di. +</p> + +<p> +“Well…” he said. “I hope you’ll be happy now—with your own people.” +</p> + +<p> +He spoke kindly enough, yet, she thought, with a curious lack of +warmth. An odd little man altogether; looking at him now in the bright +sunlight, she saw that his weather-beaten face was deeply lined with a +net of little wrinkles at the corners of his blue eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Is he old?” she thought. “Or just—battered?” And aloud she asked: +“Are you—Father’s younger brother?” +</p> + +<p> +“Eh? Yes. Two or three years. Now, I almost hate to ask this—but did +you ever hear your father speak of Uncle Rufus?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Di. “Several times.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hm. I’m afraid Harvey didn’t care much for the old man.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid he didn’t,” said Di. +</p> + +<p> +She remembered a letter her father had got from Uncle Rufus, and what +he had said about it. +</p> + +<p> +“I simply asked him to make me a little loan,” he had cried to his +child, “and the damned old skinflint treats me as if I were a beggar!” +</p> + +<p> +He had also spoken of Uncle Rufus quite often as “that damned old +hyena.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course,” Uncle Peter went on, apologetically, “the old man’s got +his little weakness… But he’s a very remarkable man. Writes books, and +so on. Very remarkable!” +</p> + +<p> +“Is he at your house?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not now. But he’ll be coming, for a visit. Y’know, I think you’ll +like him. You’re clever, aren’t you? Fond of books and so on?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m fond of books,” said Di, “but I’m afraid I’m not clever at all.” +</p> + +<p> +“I bet you are!” he said, and added, sadly. “I’m the fool of the +family.” +</p> + +<p> +She murmured some polite contradiction, and then, to change the +subject: +</p> + +<p> +“It was awfully nice of you to look me up,” she said. “I really do +appreciate it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, rats!” said he, cheerfully, and they both laughed. +</p> + +<p> +The countryside was beautiful that April morning, and the girl’s +spirits rose and rose. She asked so very little of life, expected so +very little; a chance of earning a moderate living, and a morning like +this were enough. She was not even especially curious. She was going +off bag and baggage, with this man she had never set eyes on before, +to a house unknown, unknown people, and she had scarcely asked a +question. That was her way. Since childhood, she had had to depend +upon her own fortitude, and there was, beneath her half-shy manner, a +fine, careless spirit of adventure, an odd little recklessness. +</p> + +<p> +In those days with her father there had been so many disasters. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know where the money’s coming from for the next meal!” he +often said. +</p> + +<p> +But it had come. He had often said he was ruined, but somehow they had +gone on. And somehow Di, with her patchy education, her one-sided +experience, had been able to keep on after she was left alone. No one +else had been able to suit the beautiful Angelina, but she had. She +had done impossible things; she, who had never had two dollars in her +purse, had somehow managed to keep Angelina’s chaotic check-book +balanced. She, who was so diffident, had been able to talk to the +strangest people, to give orders to servants, to confront tradesmen +with exorbitant bills. +</p> + +<p> +“I seem to fall on my feet!” she thought. “Look at this! If Uncle +Peter hadn’t come… But he <i>did</i> come!” +</p> + +<p> +He turned the car now up a road so lovely that she gave a cry of +delight. It was a road in the very heart of a wood of birches and +pines and oaks; only the pines were dark, the other trees, just +budding, were exquisitely delicate against the pure, blue sky. There +were no houses, nothing to disturb the sun-dappled peace. +</p> + +<p> +“Nice, isn’t it?” said Uncle Peter. “Belongs to me… One of these days, +I’m going to develop it—cut down most of the trees, and put up some +nice little houses—what d’you call ’em?—that stucco, y’know, with +timbers—Elizabethan, isn’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +It seemed to Di that “developing” was hardly the word for this place, +but she said nothing. They were going up a gentle rise now, and as +they rounded a curve, she saw before her a very peculiar house, a +large, wooden building, lavishly ornamented with little balconies and +gables, a forlorn old place, with uncurtained windows, weather-beaten +and in great need of paint. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a nice house,” said Uncle Peter. “The Swiss style…” +</p> + +<p> +She glanced at him to see if he were laughing, but he looked +melancholy. +</p> + +<p> +“It’ll have to come down,” he said. “Nobody’ll buy a place like that, +nowadays.” +</p> + +<p> +The road led under a portico before the front door; he jumped out +nimbly, and held out his hand to assist Di. Then he ran up the steps +and knocked at the door, which was opened almost at once by a dismal +little man with red hair. +</p> + +<p> +The interior of the house surprised Di. They entered what was +obviously a hotel lounge, furnished with wicker chairs and settees, +and with a counter at one end, behind which were pigeon-holes for +mail. It was all very neat, and quite empty, no clerk at the desk, not +a sound to be heard. +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t know…” she began, but her own voice sounded too loud here. +She turned to her uncle and found him whispering to the red-haired +man. And she could not help hearing what he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Then <i>eggs</i>, you damned fool!” +</p> + +<p> +The red-haired man raised his eyebrows sadly, and went off through a +door at the right, and Uncle Peter took up her bag. +</p> + +<p> +“This way!” he said, and began to mount the stairs. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose they run the hotel,” thought Di. “But it doesn’t seem very +popular. Or perhaps this isn’t the season.” +</p> + +<p> +At the top of the first flight they came upon the usual hotel +corridor, long, narrow, red-carpeted. +</p> + +<p> +“Still,” she thought, “it’ll be rather nice to be in a hotel. More +lively…” +</p> + +<p> +Her uncle had stopped, and now turned toward her, with an anxious +frown. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know…” he said. “Maybe I should… Your aunt… Very remarkable +woman!” +</p> + +<p> +As he spoke, a door at the end of the corridor opened, and a woman in +a surgeon’s white overall came out, and behind her, single file, came +two children. +</p> + +<p> +“Emma!” said Uncle Peter. “Here she is—” +</p> + +<p> +The woman had stopped, and was looking at him with a sort of steady +scorn. Then she turned and pushed the two children gently back into +the room they had come out of, closed the door on them, and advanced +to Diana. +</p> + +<p> +“So this is Diana!” she said. +</p> + +<p> +She was a sturdy, solid, little gray-haired woman, very erect, and she +was smiling pleasantly now. But Di was incapable of answering at that +moment. She had caught a glimpse of those children’s faces—pasty, +yellowish faces, with blank, dull eyes, and loose mouths, hanging +open… +</p> + +<p> +“They’re idiots!” she thought, appalled. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish I had known Peter was bringing you to-day,” Aunt Emma went on. +“We could have made some little preparations. Why didn’t you +telephone, Peter?” +</p> + +<p> +“Never thought of it…” he muttered, apologetically. “Sorry, Emma.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid it’s my fault,” said Di, making an effort to speak +brightly. “I accepted your kind offer so very quickly.” +</p> + +<p> +Aunt Emma held out her hand, and Di took it, felt her fingers caught +in a strong grasp. This aunt was shorter than herself, a rather dumpy +little woman, with a plain enough face, yet there was something +unusual about her, an assurance that was curiously impressive. Her +blue eyes were fixed upon the girl’s face in candid appraisal; she was +studying her, with a disconcerting keenness. +</p> + +<p> +“She’s looking right through me,” thought Di. “She sees that I’ve got +a safety pin instead of a button in the back of my dress, and that I +never remember dates.” +</p> + +<p> +“See about lunch, Peter,” said Aunt Emma. +</p> + +<p> +“I did, Emma,” he said. “I spoke to Wren.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then show Diana a room,” she said. “You’ll understand, Diana, that +I’m very busy… Make yourself at home!” And with a pleasant smile she +went into the room again and closed the door. +</p> + +<p> +“What does she—do?” Diana asked her uncle, in a whisper. +</p> + +<p> +“Too deep for me!” he answered. +</p> + +<p> +“But—those children—?” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t ask me! I don’t understand these things.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I mean—” she went on, resolutely, “are they any—relation—?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Lord, no!” he said. “Emma’s adopted them, that’s all.” +</p> + +<p> +He opened a door. +</p> + +<p> +“Here’s a room,” he said, and hurrying on, opened another door. “And +here’s one—and here’s one. Take your choice! They’re all pretty much +alike.” +</p> + +<p> +So they were; bare hotel bedrooms, close and dusty, with stripped +beds. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, this one, thank you!” she said, taking the one furthest from +that in which those children were. +</p> + +<p> +“Good!” said he, and hurried off down the corridor. +</p> + +<p> +Di looked about her in dismay. +</p> + +<p> +“I almost wish I hadn’t come,” she thought. “No, I don’t! That’s +silly. It’s a wonderful piece of luck for me. And perhaps more people +will come—perhaps there are people here already that I haven’t seen.” +</p> + +<p> +A considerable noise outside brought her into the hall, and she saw +Uncle Peter and the red-haired man bringing her trunk up the stairs. +With a praiseworthy, but not very effectual, impulse to help, she +stepped back into the room and opened the door wide, back against the +wall. And as she stood there, out of sight, another door opened. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s all this noise?” demanded Aunt Emma’s voice, sternly. +</p> + +<p> +“We’re getting up the girl’s trunk,” said Uncle Peter, in his usual +apologetic tone. +</p> + +<p> +“Make less noise!” she said. “You disturb me. You shouldn’t have +brought the girl like this, without warning me.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you told me to make her come!” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well. Now hold your tongue,” said Aunt Emma, and her door closed +again. +</p> + +<p> +The trunk was now carried past Di and set down, and without so much as +a glance at her, Uncle Peter hurried off again. Wren, the little +red-haired man, stood wiping his hands on his coat. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll make up the bed for you, Miss,” he said. “And air the room, +while you’re down at lunch.” +</p> + +<p> +He was such a subdued little man, so shabby, so forlorn in appearance, +that Di suddenly gave him her last quarter. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, Miss!” he cried. “I—thank you, Miss!” +</p> + +<p> +Pocketing the coin, he stood before her, as if irresolute. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll bring you towels, Miss,” he said. “And if there’s anything else +you want, there’s a bell here, Miss. Better ring several times, Miss, +in case I’m not within hearing at the moment… Thank you, Miss.” +</p> + +<p> +With his hand on the knob, he added: +</p> + +<p> +“And if you’ll excuse me, Miss—I’d advise you to keep your door +locked when you’re not in the room. Those—little ones is very +<i>mischeevous</i>. Thank you, Miss!” +</p> + +<p> +He went out, closing the door behind him. +</p> + +<p> +“I certainly shouldn’t like those children to get in here,” she +thought. “I—don’t think I like being here, very much.” +</p> + +<p> +Then it occurred to her that it would be a matter of considerable +difficulty to leave this house now. She had no money for train fare, +no money at all. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course if I asked him, Uncle Peter would drive me back to the +city, I suppose,” she thought. “Only, it would be pretty awkward to +say I’d changed my mind. Although they’re not very hospitable. ‘The +girl’—I wonder why they asked me? Out of charity? No; because they +couldn’t possibly have known how bad things were for me.” +</p> + +<p> +The room seemed unbearably close to her; she went to the window and +opened it. And there before her were the trees, the dark pines, the +old oaks, so close to the house, too close, shutting out all the rest +of the world… +</p> + +<p> +Something stirred in her heart, a formless and nameless fear. Wasn’t +this like a prison? +</p> + +<p> +“What nonsense!” she said to herself. “I’m tired, that’s all. It’s +been a worrying morning. After I’ve had some lunch—” +</p> + +<p> +There was running water in the room; she washed, and brushed her hair, +and then began to unpack her bag. +</p> + +<p> +“There may be other people staying here,” she thought. “I hope so. And +I must telephone to Mrs. Frick.” +</p> + +<p> +She thought of Mrs. Frick with an unreasonable friendliness now. She +was impatient to telephone to her. +</p> + +<p> +There was a knock at the door, and opening it, she found Uncle Peter +there. +</p> + +<p> +“Lunch, if you’re ready,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Since they had reached the house, his manner was undeniably changed; +there was a worried, absent-minded air about him now. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m ready,” she said. “And, by the way, what’s the address here, +please? I’d like to telephone it to a friend.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well…” he said. “You’d better ask your Aunt Emma.” +</p> + +<p> +She stared to him in astonishment. +</p> + +<p> +“I mean—” he said. “She doesn’t like her work interfered with.” +</p> + +<p> +“But that won’t interfere with her work, will it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Better ask her!” he said, and stood aside to let her go down the +stairs. +</p> + +<p> +As they passed through the lounge, she turned her head to make sure +that she had really seen a telephone on the desk, and she was +curiously relieved to see that there was one. +</p> + +<p> +At the end of the lounge were sliding doors, pushed a little open now +and revealing a big dining-room. And her heart sank at the sight of +it. The tables were drawn up against the walls, and the chairs stacked +on top of them; near the window was one small table laid with cloth, +and at which Aunt Emma was already seated. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose the season hasn’t begun yet,” said Di. +</p> + +<p> +“What season?” asked Aunt Emma. +</p> + +<p> +“I mean—don’t more people come here, in the Summer?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nobody comes here unless by my invitation,” said Aunt Emma. “This +isn’t a hotel any longer.” +</p> + +<p> +“Just—you and Uncle Peter?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s all.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s—” said Di, glancing about the big, empty room. “It seems—such +a large place.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is a large place,” said Aunt Emma. +</p> + +<p> +Silence fell. Presently Wren came in, bringing a remarkably meager and +unappetizing lunch, a burnt and curdled little omelette, bread and +margarine and tea, and one banana each. +</p> + +<p> +Di thought of past lunches, in Angelina’s house; she thought of +broiled chicken, rice croquettes, mushrooms, crisp salads. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m spoilt!” she thought. “This will do me good.” +</p> + +<p> +At least there was plenty of bread; she ate three slices and drank the +black bitter tea, and felt better. +</p> + +<p> +“Aunt Emma,” she said. “Do you mind if I just telephone this address +to a friend?” +</p> + +<p> +“The telephone is disconnected,” said Aunt Emma. +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch03"> +Chapter Three.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">Di Makes Up Her Mind to Leave</span> +</h3> + +<p> +Di was forced to admit that the situation was—uncomfortable. She +could not go out anywhere to telephone because she hadn’t a penny. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I can write!” she thought. “There’s no such tearing hurry.” +</p> + +<p> +And she also made up her mind that she must begin being Aunt Emma’s +secretary at once, so that she could earn something. +</p> + +<p> +“May I help you this afternoon, Aunt Emma?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll see…” said Aunt Emma, with an enigmatic smile. “If you’re +ready—?” +</p> + +<p> +Di had now eaten everything in sight, and she rose as her aunt pushed +back her chair. They went up the stairs together, along the corridor, +to the room at the end. Aunt Emma took a key from the pocket of her +overall and unlocked the door. +</p> + +<p> +It was a profound relief to the girl that those children were not +there. The room looked pleasantly business-like, with a large +flat-topped desk, very neat, and a typewriter on a table, and the +afternoon sun shining in at the window. Aunt Emma placed a chair +before the desk for Di, and seated herself behind the desk, facing +her. +</p> + +<p> +“Well!” she said, looking steadily at the girl, “what do you know +about cretinism?” +</p> + +<p> +It was remarkably like being at school again, and Di felt the old +sensation of defensive resentment. +</p> + +<p> +“Not—very much,” she answered. +</p> + +<p> +“How much? What would be your definition of cretinism?” +</p> + +<p> +Di thought very hard. +</p> + +<p> +“Well…” she said. “I think—it has something to do with +the—excavations they’re making in the island of Crete.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good—God!” said Aunt Emma. +</p> + +<p> +She opened the drawer of her desk, took out a cigarette, lit it, and +leaning back in her chair, stared at Di. +</p> + +<p> +“A revelation of character,” she said. “You’re one of those persons +who can’t say ‘I don’t know’ … Cretinism is a form of idiocy. There +are—” She paused, and smoked for a time. “There are,” she went on, “a +great many varieties of idiocy in this world.” +</p> + +<p> +Di grew red. +</p> + +<p> +“The world is largely peopled by idiots,” said Aunt Emma. “Of +different grades. Most of them attain a development sufficient for the +demands of daily life. They can read and write and they can act upon +the suggestions of superior minds.” +</p> + +<p> +All this time she was steadily regarding Di with a faint smile, and Di +began to grow angry. +</p> + +<p> +“I dare say I’m an idiot myself,” she said, “but I hope I can be a +little useful to you. I can type—” +</p> + +<p> +“Can you read?” +</p> + +<p> +“Read?” Di repeated. +</p> + +<p> +“I mean, are you able to read a book which is not fiction?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Di. +</p> + +<p> +“Then take this,” said Aunt Emma. “It’s written by your Uncle Rufus. +Kindly read the first chapter and then give me a terse résumé.” +</p> + +<p> +Hot and angry, Di took the big volume that was pushed across the desk +to her. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Some Observations Upon the Natural Limitations of National Cultures</i>, +by Rufus Leonard. +</p> + +<p> +She turned the pages, with a somewhat strained air of intellectual +interest. +</p> + +<p> +“I suggest that you begin at the beginning,” said Aunt Emma. “The +first chapter will do for the present.” +</p> + +<p> +“I <i>won’t</i> lose my temper!” said Di to herself. “She has a perfect +right to test me before she takes me as a secretary.” +</p> + +<p> +She turned to the first page and began to read. But it was like a +nightmare; she had to read sentences over and over, to understand +them, and even then, the ideas were hazy to her. And all the time she +was aware of Aunt Emma smoking and steadily regarding her. She turned +a page. +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p> +“One may, for diversion, take a metaphysical view of the problem; one +may play with the assumption that the ethos—” +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +It was no use. She felt that if she had time, and if Aunt Emma were +not staring at her, she might manage something, but not in the present +circumstances. She closed the book and glanced up, meaning to say +that, frankly. +</p> + +<p> +“I see!” said Aunt Emma. “I thought so. No… You are emotional, instead +of intellectual. I do not assert that I can read a physiognomy. I +consider that a preposterous claim. But give me fifteen minutes’ +observation of anyone, of the involuntary gestures, the manner of +walking, speaking, and so on, and I will know that person better than +his own mother would.” +</p> + +<p> +Di essayed an uncertain smile. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m awfully sorry I can’t help you,” she said. “I hoped—” +</p> + +<p> +“You can help me,” said Aunt Emma. “You say you can type. I’ll give +you some work at once.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” said Di. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall be glad to have you here,” Aunt Emma proceeded. “Your father +and I were never in harmony, but your mother was very agreeable. +You’re very like her.” +</p> + +<p> +Di turned her head away quickly. It was almost intolerable to her to +hear that name mentioned. All through her lonely and troubled life she +had held as her heart’s secret the tenderest image of that mother she +could not remember. She had virtually needed something to cling to, +some ideal, and she had found it there. +</p> + +<p> +There was a considerable silence; when Aunt Emma spoke again, her +voice was grave and kindly. +</p> + +<p> +“You remember her at all?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Di, very low. +</p> + +<p> +“Your father, no doubt, often talked to you of her.” +</p> + +<p> +“No. Never. He—didn’t like to talk about—her.” +</p> + +<p> +Aunt Emma pushed back her chair, rose, and coming out from behind the +desk, laid her hand on the girl’s shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“Work is the panacea,” she said. “Now, my dear! Here is a little +article of mine which I’d like you to type. ‘Basic fallacies of the +Montessori Method.’ The main fallacy is this. The Signora Montessori +imputes to children a capacity for independent action which is so +rare, even in adults, as to be remarkable.” +</p> + +<p> +She lit another cigarette. +</p> + +<p> +“The immense majority of human beings have no independence,” she said. +“The suggestibility of the human race has never yet been fully +realized. It is my intention to publish some observations in that +field before long… And now, there is the typewriter, and here is +paper.” With her hand on the door knob, she looked back at Di. “Knock +on the door if you want to leave the room,” she said. “I shall be +conducting experiments in the corridor, and a sudden interruption +would be very disagreeable.” And she went out, closing the door behind +her. +</p> + +<p> +Di stood looking at the closed door. +</p> + +<p> +“I—really don’t think I can stay here…” she said to herself. +</p> + +<p> +But how was she to get away, without money? The idea of borrowing from +her aunt or her uncle was most distasteful, nor could she think of any +decent excuse to make for a sudden departure. +</p> + +<p> +“I was so willing to come,” she thought. “I can’t rush off and hurt +their feelings, when they were kind enough to look me up and ask me +here. I’ve just got to make the best of it.” +</p> + +<p> +She uncovered the typewriter, and took up her aunt’s neat manuscript; +it was easy to read, and she finished a page quickly. Then, as she was +putting in a new sheet, she heard footsteps outside the door, +shuffling up and down the corridor. There was no sound of voices; +nothing but those dragging footsteps. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s those children!” she thought, and the room grew stifling to her; +it was like a prison. She got up in haste, and opened the window, +leaned out, breathing with relief the cool Spring air. Then, beneath +her, she heard a voice: +</p> + +<p> +“Hello!” +</p> + +<p> +She leaned further out. Directly beneath her was another window, open, +and the voice, which was Uncle Peter’s, came from the room inside. +</p> + +<p> +“Hello!” he cried again. “What’s the matter, Central? Well, try them +again.” +</p> + +<p> +“But he’s telephoning!” she thought. “Then the telephone <i>can’t</i> be +out of order—” +</p> + +<p> +“Hello!” he said again. “Oh! So you’re there! … Now, see here, Miles! +Your aunt wants you to come out at once… What? … I don’t care… No, I +can’t! … No, I haven’t a damned cent… Oh, pawn your watch—do anything +you want, but come out here at once, d’you understand?” +</p> + +<p> +Di drew back into the room. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s an idea!” she said to herself. “I’d forgotten that watch.” +</p> + +<p> +She remembered now a wrist-watch Angelina had given her, an absurd +little thing, no larger than a five-dollar gold piece and not much +thicker. It had needed expensive repairs to set it working again, and +Di had put it away and not given it another thought, until Uncle +Peter’s words reminded her that it might at least provide a railway +fare back to New York. +</p> + +<p> +“And if I just had the money to go,” she thought, “If I felt that I +<i>could</i> go, then I shouldn’t mind staying. It’s simply this feeling +that I can’t get away…” +</p> + +<p> +Very well; but how to convert the watch into money? She thought that +over for a time, and then, with a sudden inspiration, began to write a +letter. +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p class="noindent"> +“Dear Mrs. Frick: +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Here I am, safe and sound. The address is</i> —” <i>Here she left a +blank, to fill in later.</i> “<i>You were so friendly this morning that I +feel encouraged to ask you to do me a favor. Enclosed is a little +watch. If you could possibly—</i>” <i>She hesitated a moment. Mrs. Frick +was probably too respectable for pawnshops</i>—“<i>manage to sell it for +me, and send on the money, I should be very much obliged.</i> +</p> + +<p> +“<i>I have already started to work as my aunt’s secretary, and I am sure +that in a little while everything will be all right. But just at the +moment, I am pretty hard up. If you can get me three dollars for the +watch, it would be a great help.</i>” <i>In spite of her Bohemian +upbringing, Di realized that this was an extraordinary letter.</i> +</p> + +<p> +“<i>I hope this won’t bother you</i>,” <i>she added.</i> +</p> + +<p class="rt1"> +“<i>Sincerely yours,</i><br> +“<span class="sc">Diana Leonard</span>.” +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +Then she addressed an envelope, put the letter into it, tucked it +inside her blouse, and set to work upon her aunt’s manuscript with +energy. +</p> + +<p> +It was a nice job when she had finished; she was pleased with it. She +sighed and stretched and, leaning back in the chair, with her hands +behind her head, let her thoughts drift. The sun was going down, the +sky was bright and calm… Angelina and her new husband would be at that +inn in the Berkshires now. They would probably be having tea. +</p> + +<p> +“I’d like tea myself,” she mused. “A <i>very</i> large club-sandwich—and +coffee éclairs—” +</p> + +<p> +The door opened and Aunt Emma entered. +</p> + +<p> +“Finished?” she said. “That’s very nice… Now, my dear, have you a +pretty dress with you? Something light… I’m expecting your cousin for +dinner.” +</p> + +<p> +“What cousin?” asked Di, startled by the news and by the change in her +aunt’s manner, so kindly and solicitous now. +</p> + +<p> +“Your Uncle Peter’s son.” +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t know he was married.” +</p> + +<p> +“You might have known,” said Aunt Emma, with a grim smile. “A man like +Peter couldn’t help getting married. He’s a widower now, though… I +think you’ll like Miles… Have you a pretty dress?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Di. “Angelina—Mrs. Herbert—Mrs. Blessington I mean—gave +me lots.” +</p> + +<p> +Aunt Emma smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“Run along and put one on,” she said. “You’ll be glad of someone your +own age to talk to.” +</p> + +<p> +“She <i>is</i> nice!” thought Di. “Asking this cousin on my account. Now if +only there’s a good dinner!” +</p> + +<p> +She dressed, in a green chiffon frock that suited her very well; she +took pains to look her best, curiously excited at the prospect of +meeting this cousin. Indeed, she was a little surprised by her own +emotion. +</p> + +<p> +“Silly!” she thought. “I suppose it’s because I haven’t any family.” +</p> + +<p> +Coming out of her room a little before six, she found Uncle Peter in +the hall, lounging against the wall, smoking a cigar. He still wore +his jaunty checked suit and brown shoes, but he had a quieter necktie, +a more subdued air. +</p> + +<p> +“Hello!” he said. “How nice you look!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, thanks!” she said. “Uncle Peter, can you lend me a stamp?” +</p> + +<p> +“Haven’t such a thing!” he answered. “But if you have any letters to +post, give ’em to me, and I’ll look after ’em.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thanks! All right!” said Di. +</p> + +<p> +But somehow she did not want to give him her letter to Mrs. Frick. +</p> + +<p> +They went downstairs together, into the lounge. It looked very +pleasant there now, with three shaded lamps glowing. Di seated herself +in an armchair, by an artificial palm, and Uncle Peter stood beside +her with his hands in his pockets, whistling under his breath. And an +equable illusion took possession of her. Here she was, in a charming +dress, sitting here in the house of her own people; this cousin was +coming; nice, interesting things would happen. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m an idiot,” she thought, “to imagine there’s anything—queer here. +It’s heartless of me to feel this way about those poor little +children. No doubt they’re getting the best sort of treatment—perhaps +they’ll be even cured… No; there’s nothing here to be—silly about. It +was kind and generous of them to ask me. I’m lucky to be here.” +</p> + +<p> +Just then Uncle Peter sighed and stirred, and as she glanced up at +him, a singularly disturbing thought came to her. He had been waiting +outside her door… Was he guarding her? +</p> + +<p> +The impulse seized her to find out, to make sure if she really were +guarded, not permitted to go about alone in this house. And at the +same time she was aware of a great reluctance to make this test. +Better not. Better let well enough alone… +</p> + +<p> +She sat very still for a few minutes, then she rose. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll just run up and get my handkerchief,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll send Wren,” said Uncle Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“He wouldn’t know where to find it.” +</p> + +<p> +“You can tell him,” said Uncle Peter, cheerfully. +</p> + +<p> +“I’d rather go myself,” she said, a little unsteadily. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll hop along with you, then,” said Uncle Peter. “These lights have +a way of going out, and you’d get lost in this barn of a place.” +</p> + +<p> +She turned away her head, so that he might not see her face. A panic +fear was rising in her; she wanted to get away; she must get away. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t—<i>bother!</i>” she cried, and ran toward the stairs. A bad thing, +to run. One hears footsteps running behind, one shrinks from the +dreaded touch of a hand on the shoulder… She fled up the stairs, +darted into her room, slammed the door behind her and locked it, +turned on the light and sank into a chair, her hand against her racing +heart, and her eyes upon the locked door. +</p> + +<p> +She began to grow a little quieter, her breathing less labored; she +was ready to reason with herself, when the light went out. +</p> + +<p> +She sprang up, all her fears redoubled. There was a soft knock at the +door. +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t answer!” she thought. “I won’t—I can’t…” +</p> + +<p> +She stood motionless in the dark, staring before her. There was +another knock. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss!” came a hissing whisper. “It’s Wren, Miss.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you want?” she asked, whispering herself. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve got an electric torch here for you, Miss. If you’ll open the +door—” +</p> + +<p> +She did not answer. She thought if <i>anything happened</i>, if she called +out for help, who in this house would hear or care? Her panic rose to +a climax. And then, in an instant, she mastered it; she drew a long +breath, and crossing the room, unlocked the door. +</p> + +<p> +The light of a torch shone full in her eyes, dazzling her. +</p> + +<p> +“Excuse me, Miss!” whispered Wren, covering the torch and holding out +another one. “I thought… If you’ll excuse me, Miss. I appreciated your +kindness to-day. If there’s anything I can do for you, Miss…” +</p> + +<p> +By the light of her torch, she could see his pale face, his anxious +eyes; she looked and looked at him, but she could not understand him. +Was he honest and well-disposed to her, or was he furtive and +treacherous? +</p> + +<p> +“If there’s anything I can do, Miss—” he repeated. +</p> + +<p> +She decided to take a chance. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish you’d post a letter for me,” she said, with a fair attempt at +a casual manner. “I haven’t any stamps just now, but—” +</p> + +<p> +“Give it to me please, Miss,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s not quite ready. If you’ll wait—” +</p> + +<p> +“I’d better not, Miss. If you’ll leave it were I can get it—” +</p> + +<p> +“How would one address a letter here?” she asked, quickly, infected by +his air of haste. +</p> + +<p> +“The Châlet, Miss. East Hazelwood. Just tell me where I’ll find it, +Miss.” +</p> + +<p> +“Under the bureau-scarf,” she began, but he had turned away. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll look after it, Miss,” he whispered and was gone. +</p> + +<p> +She stood in the doorway, listening. There was nothing to hear; not a +sound of any sort; not a light anywhere except the little beam of the +torch she held. But her moment of panic was over; she had herself well +in hand; a sort of anger filled her. She went along the corridor, and +leaning over the bannister, directed her torch toward the lounge +below. And the light fell upon Uncle Peter, stretched out in a wicker +chair, smoking his cigar. +</p> + +<p> +“Hello!” he cried. “Who’s that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Diana,” she answered, and began to descend the stairs. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose that blamed idiot will have the wit to go down in the +cellar and change the fuse,” he observed. “I don’t understand these +things, but Wren does. Poor wiring in the house. I warned you!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, there’s no harm done,” she said, affably. +</p> + +<p> +She sat down near him in another chair, and waited. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve made a fool of myself,” she thought. “Rushing upstairs like that +and slamming the door. Uncle Peter was only good-natured. The lights +<i>do</i> go out. And he didn’t come after me. He just sat here, smoking. I +don’t know what’s the matter with me—imagining all sorts of things.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hark!” said Uncle Peter. +</p> + +<p> +She started nervously. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t hear anything.” +</p> + +<p> +“Car coming,” he said, and now she heard it too, coming up the drive. +What was coming? Who was coming? +</p> + +<p> +There was a step on the veranda, and then an appallingly loud bang on +the front door. +</p> + +<p> +“Lend me your torch,” said Uncle Peter, and taking it, crossed the +room and opened the door. But he let no one in; he stepped outside, +closing it behind him. +</p> + +<p> +She was left now in utter darkness. She heard a murmur of voices +outside, and she was groping her way across the lounge to the door, +when the lights came on. She hurried then, and looked through the +uncurtained glass of the door. A car stood out there and the +headlights shone along the drive. And she had a glimpse of two men, +carrying between them a limp body; then they passed beyond the stream +of light, and she could see them no more. +</p> + +<p> +“This is too much…” she thought. “I can’t—” +</p> + +<p> +Her knees were shaking; she sat down again. And presently the front +door opened and Uncle Peter re-entered, dapper and cheerful. +</p> + +<p> +“Was there an accident?” she cried. +</p> + +<p> +“Accident?” he repeated, staring at her. “No. What made you think +that?” +</p> + +<p> +“I thought I saw…” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, it was just a fellow looking for a room,” he said. “You know, +this place used to be a hotel, and people still come now and then.” +</p> + +<p> +Very cheerful and reassuring, Uncle Peter was. But on his cheek and on +his shirt-front were two black smudges. Very like coal-dust. Very like +the smudge one might get in a cellar. Smudges such as one might get in +going down to turn off the current. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m going,” she thought. “I’m going to leave here to-morrow, if I +have to walk to New York. Perhaps it’s all—imagination—but I—don’t +like to imagine things like that.” +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch04"> +Chapter Four.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">Di Makes a Promise</span> +</h3> + +<p> +No cousin Miles appeared that night. She and Aunt Emma and Uncle Peter +sat down to dinner by themselves; a very poor and insufficient dinner, +and Wren waited upon them. There was little conversation; Aunt Emma +seemed distrait, and directly they had finished she said “good-night” +and went upstairs. +</p> + +<p> +“What about a little game of cards?” asked Uncle Peter. “I’ll show you +how to play Russian Bank, Diana.” +</p> + +<p> +She had nothing to read and no desire to spend the evening shut up in +her room, so she accepted willingly. But first she went upstairs, +filled in the blank in Mrs. Frick’s letter with the address, put the +tiny watch into the envelope, sealed it and slipped it under a corner +of the bureau-scarf. Then she returned to Uncle Peter. They sat in the +lounge and played; they were both cheerful and good-humored. But all +the time Di was thinking to herself: +</p> + +<p> +“To-morrow evening, I shan’t be here. This is the end.” +</p> + +<p> +It was not long before Uncle Peter began to yawn, and to become +absent-minded, and when Di said she thought she would go to bed, he +sprang up with alacrity. +</p> + +<p> +“I like to get up early,” he explained. “Like to get out while the dew +is on the grass, this time o’ year. Used to ride before breakfast, +when I had a horse.” +</p> + +<p> +He sighed and she glanced at him, baffled. Was he really a simple and +kindly man—or wily and evil? +</p> + +<p> +He made no offer to go upstairs with her, but stood at the foot of the +stairs until she had reached the top. +</p> + +<p> +“Night!” he called. “Sleep well!” +</p> + +<p> +She locked her door and sat down, with the torch handy. What if he had +run down in the cellar and turned out the lights? That might have been +nothing but rather a childish retaliation because she had run away. +</p> + +<p> +Very well; that might be that. But what about those two men she had +caught a glimpse of carrying another between them? +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know!” she cried to herself. “And I don’t care! I’m tired of +all this! I’m going away.” +</p> + +<p> +Then she remembered the letter, and raised the bureau-scarf. It was +gone. +</p> + +<p> +“It doesn’t matter,” she thought. “I don’t care what’s happened to +it.” +</p> + +<p> +She undressed then and got into bed, and fell asleep at once; slept +profoundly all night. When she awoke the sun was up, shining into the +room, it was a clear, gay morning. But she did not feel gay. On the +contrary. Whatever dreams she had had were utterly forgotten, yet some +faint, sorrowful impression remained. +</p> + +<p> +She got up reluctantly, went to the nearest bathroom for a cold dip, +and dressed. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know what excuse I can possibly make,” she thought. “Or how I +can get to New York, or what I’ll do there. But I’m going. After I’ve +had some breakfast, I’ll be able to think of a way.” +</p> + +<p> +Pale, unusually serious, she went down the stairs. And there in the +lounge she saw a stranger, a tall, fair-haired young man, sitting +stretched out in an armchair, and smoking a cigarette. When he caught +sight of her, he rose. +</p> + +<p> +“Good God!” he said, staring at her. “You’re not this Diana, are you?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s me!” she answered. “Are you Miles?” +</p> + +<p> +He held out his hand, and when she gave him hers, he kept it in a firm +clasp. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought you were going to be repulsive,” he said. “I mean, they +told me to come out here and meet a cousin who was helping Aunt Emma +with her damned work. So I thought horn-rimmed spectacles—<i>you</i> +know—one of these <i>nice</i> girls.” +</p> + +<p> +She liked him at once; she felt perfectly at home with him. His young +face was a little haggard, his blue eyes looked tired, but there was +about him a debonair good humor that immediately attracted her. +</p> + +<p> +“When did you get here?” she asked, trying to pull away her hand. +</p> + +<p> +“This morning,” he answered and held her hand still tighter. +</p> + +<p> +A silent struggle ensued, in the course of which she freed herself. +</p> + +<p> +“You must have got up pretty early,” she observed. +</p> + +<p> +“Doesn’t necessarily follow,” he said. “Perhaps I just <i>stayed</i> up.” +</p> + +<p> +She could believe that; there were unmistakable marks of dissipation +in his handsome face, and she was sorry. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re not a scientist, are you?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Mercy, no!” +</p> + +<p> +“Then what are you, when you’re not here?” +</p> + +<p> +“I was a sort of secretary,” she answered, “to Mrs. Herbert—” +</p> + +<p> +“Not Angelina?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes!” she said, eagerly. “Do you know her?” +</p> + +<p> +“I know the fellow she’s just married. Porter Blessington.” +</p> + +<p> +He knew these people she knew, and they entered upon one of those +absurdly inane yet somehow fascinating conversations: “Do you know +so-and-so? Oh, and do you know Mrs. This, or Mrs. That?” +</p> + +<p> +His acquaintance was very large, and Di was able to place him pretty +well. She had met other young men like him in Angelina’s house, +well-dressed, good dancers, remarkably good bridge-players, agreeable +and amusing fellows, who get plenty of invitations for dinners, dances +and week-ends. But who had no austere scruples. She did not conceive +any great respect for her cousin Miles, but she liked him, and it was +a pleasure even to hear the names of Angelina’s friends, to be +reminded of those glittering, hurried days. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you ever meet—?” she was beginning when Aunt Emma appeared. She +was wearing a spotless white overall, and white shoes and stockings; +everything about her was fresh and neat and of a simple dignity. Her +plump face, framed by her short gray hair, was rosy and wholesome, and +very kindly in its expression this morning. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-morning, Diana!” she said. “Did you sleep well? We’ll have +breakfast now, Miles—” +</p> + +<p> +“No, thanks!” he said. “I don’t feel much like breakfast.” +</p> + +<p> +“Go and take a little walk,” said she, and led the way to the +dining-room, where she rang for Wren. +</p> + +<p> +“She’s evidently seen Miles before this morning,” thought Di. “Could +it—? Oh, I hope not!” +</p> + +<p> +Could it have been Miles who had been carried into the house last +night? +</p> + +<p> +“I’m an early riser,” said Aunt Emma. “I’ve had my breakfast, long +ago. But I’ll sit with you, and have another cup of coffee… It +occurred to me that it might be advisable to talk to you a little +about your Uncle Rufus’s work. You seemed to find his book—difficult. +So I propose to give you an elementary survey.” +</p> + +<p> +She lit a cigarette, and leaning back in her chair, began to talk. And +then for the first time, Diana began to understand Uncle Peter’s +description of his sister as a “remarkable woman.” All the time the +girl was eating, her aunt went on, in her pleasant, assured voice; she +never once hesitated for a word, she made of a very dry subject a +thing of interest, by her perfect clarity. She had the instinct of the +born teacher; she <i>knew</i>, without asking, just what needed explaining, +what needed emphasizing, just what words to use. +</p> + +<p> +“Now!” she said. “Is it clearer?” +</p> + +<p> +“Much!” said Di, respectfully. +</p> + +<p> +“I suggest,” said Aunt Emma, “that you spend the morning looking over +your Uncle Rufus’s book again. He will appreciate it, if you are able +to talk to him intelligently about it.” +</p> + +<p> +Di followed her aunt upstairs, with a feeling of remorse. For she did +not intend ever to see Uncle Rufus, ever to talk about his boring +work, or even to think of it again, once she got away. She took the +hateful volume which Aunt Emma handed to her, and sat down alone, at +Aunt Emma’s desk. +</p> + +<p> +“I shouldn’t have let her take all that trouble, explaining,” she +thought. “The least I can do now is to make an effort. It’ll probably +do me good.” +</p> + +<p> +But she could not keep her mind on the book. +</p> + +<p> +“I need exercise,” she thought, “Well, I’ll get plenty when I start +looking for a job! But I wonder… I wonder if, after all, I hadn’t +better wait for a day or two, and just see if I get an answer from +Mrs. Frick. Then I shouldn’t have to borrow any money.” +</p> + +<p> +It was Miles who had made this change in her mood. His coming had +altered everything; the atmosphere of the house was different now, not +lonely and “queer,” but cheerful and interesting. She could smile now +at her fears of last night. What had happened? Nothing at all! +</p> + +<p> +It was a very, very long morning. Once she opened the door cautiously; +the red-carpeted corridor was empty, the sun shining in at the window. +She came out, unreasonably nervous, as if she were committing some +treachery, and went to her own room. The bed had been made; everything +was neat and tranquil. She darted back to Aunt Emma’s room, and took +up the book once more, with a sigh. +</p> + +<p> +At one o’clock, Uncle Peter knocked at the door. +</p> + +<p> +“Ready for lunch?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +She was something more than ready; she was very hungry. There had not +been one good, solid meal since she had come here. She joined her +uncle promptly, and they went toward the stairs. Hearing her aunt’s +voice below, Di looked down, saw her in the lounge, standing very +straight, hands clasped behind her back, a calm, ironic smile on her +lips. Before her stood Miles, and the sight of him startled the girl. +What was that expression he wore, resentment, shame, bitterness? +</p> + +<p> +“And if you play the fool—” Aunt Emma was saying. +</p> + +<p> +Uncle Peter coughed, and she looked up and saw them. There was no +change in her calm, ironic smile, but there was a great change in +Miles. As she reached the foot of the stairs, he came toward Di with +an eager air of pleasure. And she felt quite sure that the eagerness +was forced and insincere. +</p> + +<p> +The lunch was quite as poor as all the other meals she had had here. +Aunt Emma was silent, in her somewhat majestic fashion, as if no one +here were interesting to her; Uncle Peter was absent-minded, drumming +on the table with his fingers. Wren moved about, forlorn and meek as +usual. And Miles kept on with that strained cheerfulness. She played +up to him as well as she could, because she was sorry for him. +</p> + +<p> +“See here!” he said, abruptly. “Like to take a drive this afternoon, +Diana?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” she began, and stopped, glancing toward her aunt. “I’m hoping I +can help Aunt Emma—” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s nothing of vital importance,” said Aunt Emma. “A few hours in +the open air will be good for you.” +</p> + +<p> +Miles pushed back his chair and rose. +</p> + +<p> +“All right! Get your hat and coat, and I’ll bring the car around.” +</p> + +<p> +She ran up the stairs, very pleased at the prospect of getting out, +and was down again in five minutes. The car was standing before the +house, the same car in which Uncle Peter had driven her down. +</p> + +<p> +“You didn’t waste any time!” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“I want to get away from this damned house!” he said, vehemently. “Hop +in!” +</p> + +<p> +“I’d like to stop somewhere and telephone—” +</p> + +<p> +“All right!” he interrupted. “Get in!” +</p> + +<p> +As soon as she was seated, he started the car with a jerk; before they +were out of sight of the house she realized that he was a poor driver, +nervous and careless. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t go so fast!” she protested. +</p> + +<p> +He went down the hill and turned the corner in a way that made her +gasp. +</p> + +<p> +“I really don’t enjoy this!” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“Sorry!” he said, and slowed down a little. “Only, I’m so dam’ +worried… Lord! You’d think I was a criminal—simply because I’m not +much good at business. I’ll admit I’m a dud at money-making, but +that’s no <i>crime</i>, is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, dear!” thought Di. “That’s so awfully like poor Father!” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s Uncle Rufus’s fault,” he went on. “He’s been hell-bent on making +a satisfactory heir out of me. He’s made me try all the things that +appeal to <i>him</i>—wanted me to be a chemist, and then a lawyer—and now +it’s this business. Never troubled to find out what <i>I’d</i> like.” +</p> + +<p> +“What would you like to be?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll never be anything now—but a failure,” said Miles. +</p> + +<p> +Her father had used to talk in that same way, determined to be a +failure; taking a sort of bitter pride in it, as if he were revenging +himself upon an unworthy universe. And because she had loved her +father, in spite of his weaknesses, she made allowances now for Miles. +</p> + +<p> +“I think people can be pretty much what they want,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“All right!” said Miles. “I want to be a millionaire. Now, while I’m +young.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll be young for quite a while longer.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m twenty-seven,” he said. “And a rotten failure. There’s not one +living soul who cares a tinker’s dam’ about me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your father—” she suggested. +</p> + +<p> +“My father’s a—grasshopper!” said Miles. +</p> + +<p> +She tried not to laugh, but her lip trembled with suppressed mirth, +and presently he laughed himself. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, haven’t you noticed it?” he demanded. “The way he jumps around, +so busy, doing nothing. He’s like the grasshopper in the fable, too; +he hasn’t put anything away for the Winter.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose Aunt Emma’s the industrious ant,” said Di. +</p> + +<p> +“Not she!” said Miles. “Ants work for the good of the whole crowd, and +she doesn’t give a hoot for anyone or anything but her own affairs.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know…” Di protested. “Look at those children—” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t want to look at them,” said Miles. “I saw them once, five +years ago, and that was enough.” +</p> + +<p> +“Five years ago! They must have been babies then—” +</p> + +<p> +“No, they weren’t. I never know what size kids are supposed to be, but +I should think they were six or seven then. Lord! I came in +unexpectedly and there they were, at the table, with Aunt Emma. They +were imitating her. Every time she’d lift her spoon, they’d do the +same, and slobber the soup, or whatever it was, all down their +dresses. It was a beastly sight.” +</p> + +<p> +“But don’t you think it’s a fine thing for her to try and help them?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Miles. “Naturally I don’t. Not when she’s so damned +heartless to me. If she can get Uncle Rufus’s money, I’ll never see a +penny of it. Only, I don’t think she will get it. She may get on very +well with idiots, but she doesn’t know how to manage a man. You’ll see +for yourself to-night—” +</p> + +<p> +“To-night?” +</p> + +<p> +“Didn’t they tell you he’s coming to-night?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” she answered, startled. She remembered that only this morning +she had confidently thought she would never see Uncle Rufus. Last +evening she had believed to be her last evening in that house. Yet +here she was. +</p> + +<p> +Once more the very unpleasant notion assailed her that she was in a +net, entangled there by a hundred invisible threads; as long as she +was passive, she could feel herself free, but when she tried to move, +the threads tightened. +</p> + +<p> +“Miles!” she said, with a sort of haste. “I want to telephone. Stop +somewhere, will you?” +</p> + +<p> +“All right!” he said. “On the way back.” +</p> + +<p> +He turned up a lane, and stopped the car by the roadside. +</p> + +<p> +“Uncle Rufus comes out every few months,” he said, “to see if anyone’s +improved enough for him to alter his will. At present, everything’s to +go to some society he belongs to. He’s the world’s worst. He hasn’t a +friend on earth. Of course, the idea is, that you’ll make a hit with +him—” +</p> + +<p> +“I?” +</p> + +<p> +“He liked your mother,” said Miles. +</p> + +<p> +Her heart contracted, at the mention of that name. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you ever see my mother, Miles?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“When I was a kid. I don’t remember very well, but I think she was +like you.” +</p> + +<p> +A warm sense of kinship filled her; here was one of her own people, +her cousin, who had seen her mother. She turned toward him, eagerly. +And was disconcerted to see him taking a flask out of his overcoat +pocket. +</p> + +<p> +“Have a spot?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“No, thanks,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +She did not consider herself responsible for the conduct of other +people, she had never imagined herself as anyone’s guiding star or +guardian angel, and it would have seemed to her only offensive and +meddlesome to remonstrate with him. But she was sorry, very sorry. +</p> + +<p> +“You ought to make a hit with the old boy,” he said. “Or with anyone. +You’re the prettiest, sweetest girl I ever saw.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! You don’t know me!” said Di. “Let’s get along now, Miles, so that +I can telephone.” +</p> + +<p> +He took a second drink and then caught her hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Diana!” he said. “The first moment I saw you—” +</p> + +<p> +“Please, Miles, don’t spoil everything!” she said, in distress. +</p> + +<p> +Then he grew angry and bitter. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re like everyone else,” he said. “Simply because I don’t make +money—” +</p> + +<p> +“All right!” said Di. “Let’s not argue now. Let’s get along—” +</p> + +<p> +Her self-control, her coolness, increased his anger. He accused her of +despising him, of having heard and believed false reports of him from +Aunt Emma. +</p> + +<p> +“You won’t even listen to me!” he said. “You won’t even give me a +chance!” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t help listening to you,” said Di. +</p> + +<p> +She had been through scenes like this before, with her father. He had +used to tell her that she was “heartless,” “unnatural,” “selfish,” +then, quite suddenly, he would become remorseful, and tell her she was +a “little angel.” +</p> + +<p> +“Diana!” he cried, “I’ve talked like a brute to you. Can you forgive +me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course!” she said. “Just forget about it.” +</p> + +<p> +But that tone did not satisfy him. He wanted something more dramatic, +and she was quietly determined to keep to a matter-of-fact good humor. +</p> + +<p> +“Diana!” he said. “I’m just about at the end of my tether. Some day +you’ll know…” +</p> + +<p> +Her father had used to say: “Some day, when I’ve gone, you’ll +realize—” +</p> + +<p> +A sorrowful weariness overcame her. She was so tired of this, so sorry +for Miles, his weakness, his fatal self-pity. And she felt that she +must bear with him, as he had with her father. +</p> + +<p> +“Diana, you don’t know what a rotten time I’ve had!” he said. +</p> + +<p> +And he told her a great many of his latest troubles. He was in debt up +to his ears, his creditors were pressing him, he couldn’t find a job +worth taking; his health was impaired. She listened with kindly +patience, but she could think of nothing helpful to say, only: +</p> + +<p> +“I’m awfully sorry, Miles.” +</p> + +<p> +At last he talked himself out, and grew sad and resigned. He started +the car and turned home; all the way he was respectful, courteous, +almost humble in his anxiety to please her, and she responded +good-humoredly, but with an effort. She was glad to see a light in an +upper window of The Châlet, glad even to get back there. +</p> + +<p> +He stopped the car, and helped her out, as if she were a princess. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Sure</i> you’re not angry, dear?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +In the dusk his face looked very pale, very young and haggard. She +could think now that Miles was a tragic figure. +</p> + +<p> +“Very sure!” she said, and gave his hand a friendly squeeze. +</p> + +<p> +It was not until then that she remembered the telephone-call she had +wanted to make. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, to-morrow, then!” she thought, with a sigh. “I wonder if Wren +has posted that letter? If he has, I might get an answer to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +She pushed open the front door and entered the lounge; it was dark in +there, not with the blackness of night, but filled with twilight +shadows; the willow chairs creaked, as if unseen occupants were +stirring uneasily. And she did not like this shadowy, rustling place. +A crack of light shone through the sliding-doors into the dining-room +and she thought she heard someone moving in there. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t see why I shouldn’t go and ask Wren if he’s posted the +letter,” she thought. “There’s no reason for all this caution and +secrecy.” +</p> + +<p> +How did she know there wasn’t any reason for it? In this dim silence +it was easy to believe that there might be many reasons… +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, nonsense!” she said, aloud, and crossed to the doors. But they +would not open. She pushed at them with all her might, filled with a +great desire to get into that lighted room. Behind her in the lounge a +chair creaked loudly; too loudly; she heard something like a stifled +sigh. +</p> + +<p> +“Wren!” she called. +</p> + +<p> +From the dining-room came a distorted echo of her own voice. +</p> + +<p> +“ ’En! ’En!” +</p> + +<p> +Shambling steps were coming toward the door, in there. She sprang +back, groped for a lamp, and pulled the chain. As the light came on, +she gave a shaky sigh of relief. Of course there was no one here… +</p> + +<p> +But as she turned her head, she saw, in a corner, a strange huddled +little figure, staring at her. +</p> + +<p> +She stared back, speechless. It was a man with a checked cap pulled +far down on his forehead, and wearing an overcoat and muffler. He had +drawn up two of the wing-chairs before him, so that his corner was a +sort of cage, and there he sat staring at her. +</p> + +<p> +“Who—are you?” she asked, unsteadily. +</p> + +<p> +“You must be Diana,” he said. “You’re very nervous, it seems to me. +I’m your father’s uncle. You’re very nervous. I don’t understand that, +and I don’t like it. You’re young; you look healthy. Why should you be +nervous—if you have a good conscience?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not nervous,” she said, briefly. +</p> + +<p> +“You are,” he said. “You were in a panic, trying to open that door.” +</p> + +<p> +There was something in his voice and manner which roused in the +good-tempered Diana an irritability hitherto unknown to her. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose I felt that there was someone in here,” she said. “It’s +enough to make anyone nervous.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, it’s not,” said he. “When I was your age, nothing could upset my +nerves. That was because I was moderate in eating and drinking, and +took plenty of exercise. <i>You</i> smoke yourself silly with cigarettes +and ruin your digestion with cocktails and dance all night—” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not!” said Di, indignantly. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you do, then?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s impossible to answer—a question like that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Stand nearer the lamp,” he commanded. “Well, you don’t look like your +father. You’re like your mother’s people. Good, sound stock. Hm… Like +your mother…” +</p> + +<p> +The mention of her mother startled her. Time and again, that name… +</p> + +<p> +“Yes…” he said. “She was a good girl. A kind, good girl. I was fond of +her.” +</p> + +<p> +She was silent, not able to speak just then. +</p> + +<p> +“She was kind to me,” he went on. “Not like the rest of ’em… Come +nearer!” +</p> + +<p> +She approached, stood before him, looking down at him. But, in his +corner, with his cap pulled over his brow, she could see little of his +face. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m alone,” he said. “All alone. I’m old, and I’m rich. Everyone +wants me to die, so that they can get my money. There isn’t a soul in +this house who doesn’t want to see me dead.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no!” she protested, dismayed. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s true, my girl,” he said, grimly. “Every one of ’em. I come here, +from time to time, always looking to see if I can find one trace of +the old family virtues. But I never do. They’re like a pack of wolves. +I keep on coming, because they’re the only living relations I have. +But I take my precautions!” +</p> + +<p> +She did not quite understand him. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t—” she began. +</p> + +<p> +“I take my precautions!” he repeated. “I don’t trust one of ’em. There +isn’t one of ’em I’d like to meet on the stairs in the dark, if I had +any money in my pocket.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, don’t!” she cried, appalled. “Don’t think things like that!” +</p> + +<p> +He chuckled, then grew somber. +</p> + +<p> +“See here, my girl!” he said. “I’m going to stay here a week. You be +my ally for this week, and you won’t regret it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m ever so sorry,” she said, “but I’m afraid—” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, you will!” he whispered. “You’re your mother’s daughter. You +won’t desert an old man. Not <i>now</i>. Not <i>now</i>. <i>Don’t you feel it?</i>” +</p> + +<p> +“Feel—what?” she faltered. +</p> + +<p> +“Death,” he said. “It’s very near.” +</p> + +<p> +Her healthy young instinct revolted against this. +</p> + +<p> +“I certainly don’t!” she said, sturdily. “I wish you—” +</p> + +<p> +“But you’ll stay?” he persisted, still whispering. “You’re young. You +can spare one week. You’ll be well rewarded. One week, that’s all.” +</p> + +<p> +She hesitated, doubtful and unhappy. The thought of another week in +this house was intolerable, yet still more intolerable was the idea of +refusing this miserable, futile old creature. +</p> + +<p> +“Miles said he hadn’t a friend in the world,” she thought. “That’s a +horrible thing…” +</p> + +<p> +“Your mother was a kind, good girl—” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“All right, I’ll stay,” she said, quickly. +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch05"> +Chapter Five.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">Mrs. Frick’s Gentleman</span> +</h3> + +<p> +It was raining the next morning, and as Di awoke, she lay in bed, +looking out at the gray sky, depressed and disheartened as she had +never been before in her life. +</p> + +<p> +“Only seven days more!” she told herself. “Perhaps only six—if he +counts yesterday. I can certainly stand it for that long.” +</p> + +<p> +And then what? To go back to New York and look for a job, probably an +ill-paid and uncertain one. She couldn’t expect to find another +Angelina—and who else would particularly appreciate her amateurish +services? She saw herself going from one job to another, always +worried about money, growing older and lonelier and shabbier… +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the matter with me?” she thought, half-frightened by this +mood. “I’m only twenty-three. I needn’t begin to despair. Angelina +will help me to find something, when she comes back from her +honeymoon.” +</p> + +<p> +She found it curiously difficult to believe in Angelina just now; +above all to believe in Angelina’s often-expressed friendship for +herself. +</p> + +<p> +“She doesn’t really care about me,” she thought. “If she did, she +couldn’t have gone off like that. She’s utterly forgotten me by this +time. There’s no one but Mrs. Frick. And even she probably won’t +answer my letter.” +</p> + +<p> +She sprang out of bed. +</p> + +<p> +“This won’t do,” she said to herself. “That’s like Miles. I <i>won’t</i> be +sorry for myself. I never was before. It’s this household. They’re +not—very cheery.” +</p> + +<p> +She put on a dressing-gown and went down to the nearest bathroom for a +cold plunge. But even that did not restore her usual debonair courage. +The house was so still, there were none of those pleasant +early-morning sounds that one hears in other houses; nothing but the +rain driving against the windows. She imagined the meek and miserable +Wren, preparing a meager breakfast downstairs… +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t had one decent meal since I got here,” she thought. +</p> + +<p> +She tried to dismiss that idea, but without success; she could not +banish the memory of the exquisite coffee made by Angelina’s French +cook, the hot rolls and fresh butter, grilled shad-roe and bacon, or a +bit of sole with lemon… On a gray morning like this, there would have +been a fire in the dining-room; Angelina, of course, would have been +still asleep, and Di alone at the table, with a beautiful breakfast +before her. And the whole house filled as usual with that atmosphere +of expectation and haste and gayety; the telephone ringing, the maid— +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps I’ll get a letter from Mrs. Frick this morning,” thought Di. +</p> + +<p> +Not only did she want the money, but she wanted a letter, a friendly +word from Mrs. Frick, from anyone. +</p> + +<p> +She dressed and went downstairs. The lounge was empty; she went into +the dining-room, and saw the one little table covered with a coarse +white cloth. She crossed to the swing-door by which she had seen Wren +pass in and out, pushed it open, found herself in a pantry, went +through that and found the kitchen. +</p> + +<p> +Wren was standing at the sink; above him was a window with a broken +pane through which the rain was blowing in; at his feet was a litter +of tin cans and papers and potato peelings; the room was altogether +the dirtiest, most dismal and repellant she had ever seen. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-morning!” she said. +</p> + +<p> +He jumped violently. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-morning, Miss,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you manage to get a chance to post my letter?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Miss. The night you gave it to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then perhaps—” she said. “Has the mail come this morning?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Miss.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing for me?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, Miss.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is there another delivery?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Miss, about four o’clock.” He looked at her with an anxious +smile. “If you’ll wait in the lounge—I’ll have your breakfast ready +in a moment, Miss.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, thanks!” she said, and returning to the lounge, walked up and +down restlessly. It was not appetizing, to contemplate anything from +that kitchen. And no letter. +</p> + +<p> +“It’ll come in the four o’clock delivery,” she told herself. +</p> + +<p> +Then she noticed that the telephone which had stood on the desk was +gone. +</p> + +<p> +“Suppose a letter <i>had</i> come and I—didn’t get it?” she thought. +</p> + +<p> +It was a mistake to think of things like that; she opened the front +door and stepped out on the covered porch, with the instinct to seek +in the open air a solace for her vague fears and doubts. From the +sodden ground, from the woods, came the fresh, cool fragrance of +Spring; the sky was gray, but it was not sad out here. She drew in a +deep breath, and began to reason with herself. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve promised to stay a week,” she thought. “And I’ve got to stop +being so morbid and silly. There’s nothing—” +</p> + +<p> +“Breakfast, Miss,” said Wren, from the doorway. +</p> + +<p> +She went into the dining-room, and tears came to her eyes at the sight +of what he had done. There was a clean cloth on the table, and in the +center a vase holding two feeble violets; her napkin was folded +fan-shape and standing in a glass; there was a half-orange, carefully +cut, in a chipped saucer. +</p> + +<p> +“How nice!” she cried. “How—pretty everything looks! How—nice!” +</p> + +<p> +His dismal face brightened. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, Miss!” he said. “It’s a pleasure to do anything at all for +you, Miss.” +</p> + +<p> +Just as she had finished, Aunt Emma appeared. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you care to work a little this morning?” she asked, dryly. +</p> + +<p> +“Glad to!” said Diana, and they went upstairs together. +</p> + +<p> +“Can you take dictation?” asked Aunt Emma. +</p> + +<p> +“Not in shorthand. But I can manage pretty well in longhand, if you +don’t go too fast.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shan’t go too fast,” said Aunt Emma, with a chilly smile. +</p> + +<p> +She was not over-friendly this morning; indeed, the girl perceived in +her something that would have been irritability in one less +self-controlled. She lit a cigarette and began to dictate, slowly, +with long pauses. Her subject was “suggestibility” and her theory was +unpleasant. She spoke of the “average” human being, and Di felt +completely average herself. This average human being, said Aunt Emma, +does not act from instinct, as is popularly believed. +</p> + +<p> +“His actions,” said Aunt Emma, “are almost always the result of +suggestion from a superior mind. He will, under the influence of +suggestion, act in a manner directly opposed to his natural instinct. +This was very noticeable during the late War, when the normal instinct +of self-preservation was entirely overcome by the insistent suggestion +of the leaders in various countries.” +</p> + +<p> +“But,” said Di, “perhaps war’s just another instinct. Animals fight—” +</p> + +<p> +“An animal—” said Aunt Emma, “fights to defend itself or to remove a +rival. I have not yet seen an animal fighting for the convenience of +another animal. To continue: The profound instinct of woman for +maternity is diverted, and in many cases, perverted, by the +suggestion—” +</p> + +<p> +She went on, tranquilly analyzing the utter idiocy and helplessness of +that average human being. +</p> + +<p> +“By a proper use of suggestion,” she said, “a superior mind can, with +very little effort, exercise complete dominance over an unlimited +number of average minds.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean—” said Di, apologetically, “that you can make other +people do things—?” +</p> + +<p> +“I can,” said Aunt Emma, “I do.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not me!” thought Di. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes!” said Aunt Emma, as if the girl had spoken aloud. “You too.” +</p> + +<p> +“Please just try! I do want to see how you do it!” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear child,” said Aunt Emma, “naturally it is essential that you +should not know what I want you to do. You must always be persuaded to +imagine that you are acting in your own best interests.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you been making me do things since I’ve been here?” +</p> + +<p> +“But what should I particularly want you to do?” said Aunt Emma, +blandly. “I hadn’t considered my words as having any personal +applications. They are merely notes, to be worked later into a little +article.” +</p> + +<p> +Diana said no more, and they worked together until lunch time. No one +else appeared at the table but Di and Aunt Emma, but when they had +finished, and went into the lounge, Uncle Rufus was coming slowly down +the stairs. He was still wearing the checked cap, the overcoat and +muffler. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-morning!” said Di. “Are you going out?” +</p> + +<p> +“No!” he said, so sharply as to startle her. “I want to speak to you, +when your aunt is out of the way.” +</p> + +<p> +Aunt Emma paid no attention to this; she lit a cigarette, and went +over to the door and opened it. A current of cool, sweet air blew in, +stirring her gray hair. +</p> + +<p> +“The rain is over,” she remarked, and stood there, smoking in calm +satisfaction, until her cigarette was finished. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you want me to go on, Aunt Emma?” asked Di. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>I</i> want you here!” said Uncle Rufus. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Je vous en fais cadeau</i>,” said Aunt Emma, almost gayly, and went up +the stairs. +</p> + +<p> +Uncle Rufus settled himself back in his chair. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, see here, my girl!” he began. “Come nearer! There! Now I want +you to know that it’ll be well worth your while to look after me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish you wouldn’t talk like that!” she protested. “I’ll be glad to +keep you company, but I don’t <i>want</i> anything for it.” +</p> + +<p> +He leaned forward and stared at her. She had not yet had a good look +at his face, and even now she saw only his piercing eyes under bushy +eyebrows. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t believe that!” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Please don’t mind my saying it—but don’t you think it’s a mistake to +be so—suspicious?” +</p> + +<p> +He gave a thin, little laugh. +</p> + +<p> +“Suspicious?” he said. “Look here! Put your hand on this cap.” +</p> + +<p> +She touched it, and found it stuffed with some sort of wadding. Then +he began to unwind his muffler, the length of which surprised her; it +went round his neck three times. +</p> + +<p> +“See?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“But I don’t—” +</p> + +<p> +“Hard for anyone to choke me with this on,” he said, re-winding the +muffler about his neck. “And this cap would considerably deaden the +force of a blow on the head.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! You’re mistaken!” she cried. “Nobody—” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t know ’em,” said he. “And I do. I always carry a good bit of +money with me, in case I should suddenly fall ill. Might not be able +to speak—but my money’d speak for me. I shouldn’t be carted off to +die in a public ward with <i>that</i> in my pocket. So far, my loving +family here have been considerate because they’re hoping I’ll change +my will and leave ’em something. But if ever they felt <i>sure</i> I +wouldn’t do that, then they’d get rid of me, for the sake of what’s in +my pocket.” +</p> + +<p> +“But if you think such horrible things, why do you come here?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m old,” he said. “I haven’t anyone. When I was young, I didn’t +care. I didn’t want anyone. But now I’m old. I need someone!” He +caught her sleeve. “I want to trust someone!” he cried. “And I can’t! +If I could trust <i>you</i>—if I thought you’d stand by me—I’d leave it +all to you! All that money!” +</p> + +<p> +“But I don’t want it, Uncle Rufus,” she began, when he collapsed, sank +down in his chair as if she had dealt him a cruel blow. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t—want it!” he whispered. “All that money… ?” +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t mean to be rude or ungrateful,” she said, hastily. “It’s +very kind of you. I do appreciate it. Only, I mean—you don’t have to +offer me that. I’ll be glad to do what I can for you without—that.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he said. “Nobody gives something for nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lots of people do. Haven’t you ever met any—ordinary people, who +were just kind and decent?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nobody’s kind and decent,” said Uncle Rufus. +</p> + +<p> +She fell silent after that, sitting near him, lost in her own +thoughts. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a sort of insanity,” she thought, “to feel as he does. How +horrible! How pitiful!” +</p> + +<p> +She glanced at him, saw him with his chin sunk on his chest, a +grotesque bundle of clothes. +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder why he cares,” she reflected. “If I thought the world was +like that, I’d be obliged to anyone for putting me out of it.” +</p> + +<p> +The loud twittering of a sparrow made her turn to the window; the sun +had come out now, warm and bright. +</p> + +<p> +“Wouldn’t you like to come out and get some fresh air?” she asked, but +he did not answer. +</p> + +<p> +She was longing herself to get out into that gay world, where the rain +drops glittered and the sparrows chirped. +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t had any exercise since I came here,” she observed, +apologetically. +</p> + +<p> +Still he did not answer, and drawing nearer, she stooped and looked at +him. Under the shadow of the cap-brim, she saw that his eyes were +closed. She opened the front door again and went out on the porch, sat +down on the built-in bench there, with a sigh. +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder where Miles is!” she thought. “This would be such a perfect +afternoon for a walk. And Uncle Peter—” +</p> + +<p> +“Miss!” whispered a voice behind her, and turning, she saw Wren +standing on the grass below the porch. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss!” he said, glancing nervously over his shoulder. “There’s a +gentleman to see you!” +</p> + +<p> +“A gentleman?” +</p> + +<p> +“Excuse me, Miss, but—” He glanced significantly at the open door. +</p> + +<p> +“Where is he?” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s just down the hill, Miss. There’s a clearing there, and I +thought—perhaps you’d prefer to speak to him there.” +</p> + +<p> +“But who is he?” she asked, very much interested. +</p> + +<p> +“He didn’t mention his name, Miss. I saw him coming up the hill, and I +stepped out, to tell him he was on private property, and he said he +was coming to see you, Miss. So I—said I’d fetch you.” +</p> + +<p> +“But nobody knows I’m here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Excuse me, Miss, but didn’t you write a letter?” +</p> + +<p> +Could Mrs. Frick have sent someone, in answer to that letter? +</p> + +<p> +“Excuse me, Miss!” said Wren, in a trembling voice. “Why don’t you +<i>go</i>, Miss? At once?” +</p> + +<p> +She looked at him in surprise, and the thought occurred to her that he +was curiously anxious for her to go meet this stranger. +</p> + +<p> +“Lord!” she said to herself, impatiently. “I’m getting as bad as Uncle +Rufus. What does it matter who he is or what he wants? It’s broad +daylight, and I’m capable of looking after myself.” +</p> + +<p> +So she rose. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll go and see what he wants,” she said. “Thank you, Wren.” +</p> + +<p> +She set off in the direction Wren had indicated, round the side of the +house to where a faint path began, among the trees. The ground was +still sodden, but the sun was warm; she went leisurely, partly because +she was happy to be out alone on this sweet Spring day, and partly +because she felt half-ashamed of her eagerness to see Mrs. Frick’s +gentleman. Any message, any contact with the world outside The Châlet +was so welcome to her. +</p> + +<p> +Halfway down the hill she perceived the pleasant aroma of a pipe; she +went almost noiselessly over the ground carpeted with leaf-mould and +pine-needles, and she had a chance to observe the stranger before he +saw her. +</p> + +<p> +Only, he wasn’t a stranger; she had seen that neat, dark young man +somewhere before. She stared at him with a frown. He was sitting on a +fallen log, in a little clearing, smoking a pipe, and he was quieter +than anyone else she had ever noticed. His lean, sunburnt hands rested +on his knees, his swarthy, handsome face was impassive, yet, in his +immobility, he was conveying an odd impression of alertness. +</p> + +<p> +“Where have I seen him—?” she thought. +</p> + +<p> +He glanced up then; he could not possibly see her through the trees, +yet he was looking directly at her. He rose to his feet and waited, as +she came on down the steep hillside. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-afternoon,” he said, in a stiff, unsmiling way. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-afternoon,” she answered, and waited for him to go on. But he +turned away to knock out his pipe. +</p> + +<p> +“Very kind of you to come,” he said. “I’m sorry to trouble you, but +your man advised me not to go up to the house.” +</p> + +<p> +She fancied from his stiff and correct manner, that he disapproved of +this, and she answered, with dignity. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. They’re—all resting…” +</p> + +<p> +“I see!” he said, and suddenly his dark face was lighted by a +singularly vivid smile. +</p> + +<p> +“I know!” she cried. “I knew I’d seen you! It was outside Angelina’s +house—Mrs. Herbert’s house—the day I left!” +</p> + +<p> +He brought out a card from his pocket and handed it to her. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. James Fennel.” +</p> + +<p> +“You know Angelina, don’t you?” she went on, very pleased. “I remember +you said—” +</p> + +<p> +“Er—yes,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you heard from her?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he said, briefly. “I haven’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“How did she know where I was?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t suppose she does know,” he answered, with an unmistakable air +of annoyance. +</p> + +<p> +Di looked at him, startled and a little angry at his manner. +</p> + +<p> +“Then how did you happen to come?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Frick sent me—with a note,” he said, and from his waistcoat +pocket took out an envelope. +</p> + +<p> +“But I don’t see—!” she cried, more and more surprised. +</p> + +<p> +The envelope was certainly addressed to herself; she turned it over, +as if seeking for mystic information. And he volunteered no +information whatever, only stood there, very erect, like a soldier at +attention. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s very nice of you—” she said, dubiously. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, not at all!” said he. +</p> + +<p> +There was a considerable silence. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, thank you!” she said. “I won’t keep you—” +</p> + +<p> +“Wait a moment, please!” he interrupted. “Mrs. Frick had some idea +that things were not altogether pleasant for you here. She—if they’re +not… There’s a train at 5.08.” +</p> + +<p> +She could only stare at him. +</p> + +<p> +“If you’d care to take that train,” he said. “I’ll come up to the +house with you, and wait while you pack.” +</p> + +<p> +“But—thanks ever so much,” she said, “but I’ve promised my uncle I’d +stay the week out.” +</p> + +<p> +“Look here!” said Fennel. “You look—rotten. Tell them I’ve brought an +urgent message—” +</p> + +<p> +“I’d be ashamed to do that,” she said. “I promised to stay, and I’ll +have to. But—” +</p> + +<p> +“But you’re unhappy here,” he said. “And you’re worried.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am—a little,” she admitted. “But I think it’s nothing but—nerves. +Nothing could possibly happen to me—” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t say that,” he interrupted, curtly. “You don’t know!” +</p> + +<p> +“But who on earth would want to interfere with me? I haven’t a penny +and I don’t know any secrets. I’m absolutely unimportant.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re not!” said Fennel. +</p> + +<p> +She looked at him; their eyes met, and she smiled, her nonchalant and +doubtful little smile. Not yet in her life she had been of supreme +importance to anyone. People had liked her and had often been kind to +her; she had no grudge against the world. But she had never counted +for much. Her father no doubt had loved her, and had made her +childhood a sorry and anxious time and had died making no provision +for her. Angelina had been fond of her and had gone off and forgotten +her. She was not even very important to herself; she didn’t care much +what happened. +</p> + +<p> +She stood where the sun shone on her bare head, still with that little +careless smile. But he did not smile at all; he looked at her with a +sort of cold anger. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve come—” he said, when a sound from above made her turn. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s Uncle Rufus!” she cried. +</p> + +<p> +The old man was scrambling down the hill-side, a ridiculous figure in +his voluminous overcoat and the cap pulled over his eyes; he slipped +and stumbled as he came, and clutched at the trees for support. +</p> + +<p> +Diana ran to help him. +</p> + +<p> +“Uncle Rufus!” she said, “I didn’t—” +</p> + +<p> +He struck out at her blindly. +</p> + +<p> +“No!” he cried. “No! You’ve betrayed me! you’re false and lying like +the rest—” +</p> + +<p> +“Look here!” interposed Fennel. +</p> + +<p> +“Hold your tongue!” cried the old man. “And get out!” +</p> + +<p> +He stood with his arm about a tree, breathing fast, glaring at them +both with savage malignancy. +</p> + +<p> +“I went to sleep,” he said to Di, “because I trusted you.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I only went out for a moment, Uncle Rufus,” she said, so pitying +him for his futile and distorted anger, more futile than ever out +here, under the Spring sky. “There’s no harm done. Let’s—” +</p> + +<p> +“I was asleep—and helpless!” he said. “I trusted you—and you ran +away. Ran out to meet your sweetheart—like a little servant-wench—” +</p> + +<p> +“Look here!” said Fennel again. +</p> + +<p> +The old man turned on him with a snarl. He tried to speak but no words +came. He lifted his arm, as if to hurl a curse, and lurched forward, +tottered a few steps, and fell forward on his face. He lay as still as +if he were a bundle of rags. +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch06"> +Chapter Six.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">A Disappearance</span> +</h3> + +<p> +Fennel went down on his knees, turned the old man over, unbuttoned his +overcoat, jacket and waistcoat and felt his heart. +</p> + +<p> +“Is he dead?” asked Diana, in a whisper. +</p> + +<p> +“No…” said Fennel. “But—” He hesitated. “We’d better get him up to +the house as soon as possible.” +</p> + +<p> +“We can carry him. I’ll help you.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Fennel. “If you’ll go on ahead, and see that things are +ready for him—and send someone back—” +</p> + +<p> +She set off at once scrambling up the steep hillside, ran across the +grass to the house and flung open the front door. +</p> + +<p> +“Wren!” she panted. +</p> + +<p> +There was no answer, and she ran through the dining-room to the +kitchen, where she found Wren peeling potatoes. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s been—an accident!” she said, breathlessly. “Old Mr. +Leonard—down there in the wood. Please go and help to carry him up to +the house.” +</p> + +<p> +Wren gave her a sidelong glance, like a frightened horse and bolted +out of the room. She waited for a moment to get her breath and then +hastened up the stairs to tell her aunt. She met Wren coming down. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m going, Miss!” he assured her, anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +At the end of the corridor she saw her aunt come out of her room, and +lock the door behind her. +</p> + +<p> +“Uncle Rufus—” the girl began. +</p> + +<p> +“What man was that with you?” Aunt Emma interrupted. +</p> + +<p> +Diana was a little startled. +</p> + +<p> +“Fennel, his name is,” she said briefly. “Now what can I do?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sure I don’t know,” said her aunt, and went past her, down the +stairs. As Diana followed her, Uncle Peter came tearing down, in his +hat and overcoat, and darted out of the door, slamming it behind him. +</p> + +<p> +Aunt Emma went over to the window, and, lighting a cigarette, stood +there looking out. +</p> + +<p> +“Can I—get his room ready—or something?” asked Di. +</p> + +<p> +“And how do you propose to get his room ‘ready?’ ” asked her aunt. +“It’s been swept and dusted and the bed made. Did you contemplate +decorating it with flowers?” +</p> + +<p> +“I only wanted to do something—” Di began, reddening a little under +that contemptuous tone. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve done quite enough, I should say,” observed Aunt Emma. “Ah! +There they are! Now go and open the door, and look zealous.” +</p> + +<p> +Over the top of the hill came Fennel and Wren, carrying the limp +figure of the old man between them; they crossed the lawn and entered +the lounge. +</p> + +<p> +“Upstairs,” said Aunt Emma, exactly as if she were speaking to +furniture-movers. +</p> + +<p> +Just then a car shot past the house, and Di saw that Uncle Peter was +driving it. Aunt Emma turned away, leisurely extinguished her +cigarette, and went upstairs. And Di, feeling entirely superfluous, +followed her again. +</p> + +<p> +Fennel and Wren were just laying the old man on his bed. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you!” said Aunt Emma. “Wren, go down and put on a kettle of +water to boil.” +</p> + +<p> +Wren sidled out of the room at once, but Fennel stood at the bedside +looking down at the old man. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Fennel,” said Aunt Emma, very amiably, “I don’t like to impose on +you—but our telephone is out of order, my brother has gone to fetch a +doctor, and I’ll need Wren here. If you’d be kind enough to go to the +drug-store and get a prescription made up—tell them to send it up at +once… It’s on your way to the station, so perhaps it’s not asking too +much—” +</p> + +<p> +“Not at all,” said Fennel, briefly. +</p> + +<p> +Aunt Emma sat down and taking a fountain pen and a note-book from her +overall pocket, wrote briskly for a moment. +</p> + +<p> +“Now!” she said. “And if you’ll be kind enough to take this as quickly +as you can… Diana! You know where the linen-room is? Run and get me +four clean towels… Hurry!” +</p> + +<p> +Di hastened out of the room and along the corridor. But before she +reached the linen-room, she heard Fennel coming after her. She +stopped. +</p> + +<p> +“Please come again!” she said. “I haven’t had time to thank you +properly—” +</p> + +<p> +He came close to her. +</p> + +<p> +“See here!” he said. “I’ll be waiting for you in that same place in +that wood—at nine this evening. I’ll wait an hour, and if you don’t +come, then I’ll come here to the house for you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well… no, thanks,” she said, surprised. “You see, with Uncle Rufus +ill, I can’t—” +</p> + +<p> +“Stand out of the way!” said Aunt Emma’s voice, so close that she +started. “I’ll get the towels myself, if you’re not going to help me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good afternoon!” said Fennel, curtly, and without another word or +glance, went off down the stairs. +</p> + +<p> +Di opened the door of the linen-room and got down the towels from a +shelf. +</p> + +<p> +“Now!” said Aunt Emma, “if you’re willing to be of any +assistance—when there’s no male spectator to appreciate it—” +</p> + +<p> +“This isn’t the time to answer,” thought Di. “I’ve got to put myself +aside when Uncle Rufus is so ill.” And aloud: “What can I do?” she +asked, cheerfully. +</p> + +<p> +“You can go into my room,” said Aunt Emma, “and type the short article +that you’ll find on the desk there. It must be posted to the <i>Medical +Journal</i> to-night.” +</p> + +<p> +Then there came to Di a very definite suspicion that her aunt wanted +only to get her out of the way. She had sent her brother off in the +car, Wren downstairs to the kitchen, Fennel on an errand… Fear crept +up in her heart like an icy tide. +</p> + +<p> +“Good God!” cried Aunt Emma. “Can’t you do <i>anything</i>?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’d—like to—stay with Uncle Rufus,” said Di, in an unsteady voice. +</p> + +<p> +For she had abandoned him once, and then great disaster had happened. +And she would not abandon him again. She had promised to stand by him. +</p> + +<p> +For a moment Aunt Emma looked at her, with her blue eyes like ice. +Then she laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“Very well!” she said. “And perhaps you’d like to taste any medicine I +give him? Come along!” +</p> + +<p> +They re-entered the room where the old man lay on the bed, motionless, +still in his grotesque cap pulled down to his ears, and his overcoat. +</p> + +<p> +“Sit down over there, out of the way,” said Aunt Emma. “I’m going to +get some medicine.” +</p> + +<p> +When she had left the room, it seemed to Di that the window might be +opened a little. And as she did so, she saw on the drive beneath, +Fennel, talking to Wren. +</p> + +<p> +She could hear their words plainly. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s for their own good, sir,” Wren was saying, earnestly. “There’s +so much harm they could come to, if they was to get out. I know, sir, +it <i>does</i> give one a shock to see them looking out of the window like +that—but it’s for their own good.” +</p> + +<p> +“There was a friend of mine, a doctor in Switzerland,” said Fennel. +“He had some cases like that in his sanitarium. Cretins, aren’t they?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“He kept them out in the air, as much as possible—” +</p> + +<p> +“Did that help them, sir?” Wren interrupted. +</p> + +<p> +“I should think it would help anyone,” said Fennel. “But of course he +gave them some sort of treatment. Thyroid extract—” +</p> + +<p> +“Thyroid extract, sir? Did that do them good?” +</p> + +<p> +“I believe so. Some of them improved—grew taller, you know, and could +talk better. But isn’t your Miss Leonard a physician? No doubt she—” +</p> + +<p> +“Would you mind spelling that, if you please, sir? That extract you +mentioned?” +</p> + +<p> +Fennel did so, and Wren repeated it after him. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think it can be bought, sir—?” he began, when Aunt Emma came +out of the kitchen door. +</p> + +<p> +“Wren!” she said. +</p> + +<p> +The little man fairly cringed. +</p> + +<p> +“I was just waiting for the kettle to boil, Miss—I—” +</p> + +<p> +“Get in the house,” she said, carelessly, and he disappeared at once. +</p> + +<p> +Then she and Fennel looked at each other. Diana waited, with +unaccountable dread, for what they would say. But they said nothing. +Fennel took off his hat, and with that vivid smile of his, turned +away, went off down the hill. +</p> + +<p> +Di closed the window noiselessly, and sat down on a chair at the other +side of the room. +</p> + +<p> +“What does it <i>mean</i>?” she asked herself. “What does it <i>mean</i>?” +</p> + +<p> +For she was absolutely certain that beneath all the things she could +see and hear there was something else, some meaning she could not +grasp. It was as if she were watching a play in a foreign language; +she could see the actors, watch their gestures, their entrances and +exits, hear their words, but never seize the significance. She did not +even know who was the villain of the piece, or who the hero. +</p> + +<p> +Fennel… Was he cast for a minor part; had he just “walked on” in this +one scene and now was gone, not to appear again? A curious feeling of +regret seized her, almost of desolation, because he was gone. She was +left alone here with Uncle Rufus; she was his ally, pledged to stand +by him, but was he <i>her</i> ally? She could believe that there in the +wood, in his last conscious moment, he had positively hated her. +</p> + +<p> +She rose, and went over to the bed to look at him. But she turned away +hastily; he was so grotesque, so horrible, lying there in his overcoat +and cap, his eyes closed, an expression of bitter malice on his sallow +old face. She pitied him, that man who had grown old without a friend, +she was willing and determined to help him, but she could not feel any +affection. +</p> + +<p> +“Is he—very ill?” she wondered. “Dangerously ill? It seems to me that +Aunt Emma’s doing precious little for him… But of course I don’t know. +Perhaps there’s nothing that <i>can</i> be done. She ought to know. And Mr. +Fennel seemed satisfied. If he’d thought there was anything—queer, I +don’t believe he’d have gone away without a word… But he wanted to see +me this evening… He certainly wasn’t thinking of a lover’s tryst. +Perhaps he had something to tell me—something I ought to know. It was +a mistake to say I wouldn’t go. I’m sorry I said I wouldn’t.” +</p> + +<p> +That reminded her of the letter he had brought from Mrs. Frick, and +taking it out of her pocket she tore it open. Folded inside the letter +she caught a glimpse of green, and drew out a ten-dollar bill. +</p> + +<p> +Ten dollars! Freedom and independence! She could get away from here, +buy a railway ticket, pay a week’s rent for a room, and look for a +job. And it seemed to her that any job on earth would be joyous and +delightful after this. Any job, where she was free to come and go, +where there were people to talk to, an ordinary existence. She was +about to read the letter when the sound of a car outside sent her to +the window again, and she saw Uncle Peter, driving the roadster, and +wedged in beside him, two portly, middle-aged men. Such respectable, +such blessedly <i>ordinary</i> looking men! The thought of them coming into +this house filled her with immense relief. They were coming, and she +had ten dollars. At the end of this promised week she would go… +</p> + +<p> +Aunt Emma entered the room. +</p> + +<p> +“They’re here!” she said. “Run down and tell Wren to come up at once. +We’ll have to make the patient a little more presentable for Doctor +Coat.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! Is one of them a doctor?” asked Di, better pleased than ever. +Then there couldn’t be anything really—queer. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t stop in the lounge to speak to them,” said Aunt Emma. “And +you’d better not come back, just yet. Wait in the kitchen until I +come.” +</p> + +<p> +But Di felt that no human power should keep her from speaking to those +blessedly ordinary men. +</p> + +<p> +“Why don’t you want me to speak to them?” she asked briefly. +</p> + +<p> +Aunt Emma looked at her. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose,” she said, “that you meant to trip in, like a little +ingénue in a play, all curls and dimples and they would be enchanted. +But in the first place, they’re here on business, and they’ve never +heard of you. And in the second place, you’re not looking quite your +best. You might take a glance in the mirror.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, thanks,” said Di, turning scarlet. +</p> + +<p> +“Then please send Wren at once.” +</p> + +<p> +She went downstairs, and hurried through the lounge without turning +her head, traversed the dining-room and entered the kitchen. There sat +Wren, with his head down on the table, a forlorn little figure. +</p> + +<p> +At the sound of her step, he jumped up. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Leonard wants you right away,” said Di. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Miss!” he answered. +</p> + +<p> +Then, glancing nervously over his shoulder, he came nearer to her. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss!” he whispered. “If you’ll kindly not mention this…” And he +thrust a piece of paper into her hand and hurried out of the room. +</p> + +<p> +With considerable curiosity, she opened the scrap of paper, to see +what Wren wanted to say to her. +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p> +“Nine o’clock. J.F.” +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +That was not a message from Wren. Putting the paper into her pocket, +she crossed the kitchen and opened the door, stood there to enjoy the +clear air and to think. The sun was going down. The sky was tranquil; +in the trees the birds were chirping their evensong. +</p> + +<p> +“I <i>will</i> go!” she thought. “He wouldn’t ask me if it wasn’t +important. He’s—trustworthy.” +</p> + +<p> +It was so great a comfort to feel that, after all, he hadn’t walked +off, was not gone; she looked forward with eagerness, with impatience, +to seeing him, hearing his cool, unemotional voice. Nothing would +confuse him, ever, nothing could deceive him, his quiet dark eyes +would see, would judge, would understand— +</p> + +<p> +“How idiotic!” she said to herself. “I don’t know the man. I never +spoke to him before to-day. I don’t even know why he brought Mrs. +Frick’s letter.” +</p> + +<p> +It occurred to her that the letter might contain some explanation of +Fennel. She felt in her pocket for it. The ten-dollar bill was there, +and the note Wren had just given her, but Mrs. Frick’s letter was +gone. +</p> + +<p> +“I must have dropped it up in Uncle Rufus’s room,” she thought, very +much distressed. “Well, I certainly can’t go to look for it now. I’ll +have to wait.” +</p> + +<p> +This was a singularly unpleasing idea, for she was morally certain +that Aunt Emma would read the letter if she saw it. +</p> + +<p> +“She’d do anything she wanted to do,” thought Di. +</p> + +<p> +Just then she caught sight of a figure breasting the hill, outlined +clearly against the pale, clear sky. It was Miles, handsome and +debonair and cheerful, carrying under his arm a package wrapped in +blue paper. He caught sight of her and waved, and she waved back +again. +</p> + +<p> +“Hello, dear!” he said, as he came nearer. +</p> + +<p> +That was an unpromising beginning, but she answered amiably. +</p> + +<p> +“Hello, Miles!” +</p> + +<p> +He came into the kitchen and handed her the package he carried. +</p> + +<p> +“Present for you!” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, Miles!” she said. “But first I’d better tell you… There’s +bad news. Poor Uncle Rufus—” +</p> + +<p> +“There couldn’t be any news bad enough about <i>him</i>,” said Miles. +</p> + +<p> +“No, seriously, Miles, he’s very ill.” +</p> + +<p> +“Stuff! He’s always getting ‘very ill!’ ” +</p> + +<p> +“No, but this time… He came down to that little clearing in the wood +after us, and he had some sort of attack. We thought he was dead—” +</p> + +<p> +“Who’s ‘we’?” asked Miles. +</p> + +<p> +She saw that she had made a mistake, but she was not going to be +intimidated by Miles. +</p> + +<p> +“A Mr. Fennel and I—” +</p> + +<p> +“Who’s Mr. Fennel?” +</p> + +<p> +“A friend of mine.” +</p> + +<p> +“Look here!” said Miles. +</p> + +<p> +And then it began, that scene she dreaded. +</p> + +<p> +“You might have told me there was another fellow, and not let me make +a fool of myself, thinking of you all day in the city… bringing you a +present.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t be silly!” she said firmly. “You can’t imagine that I’ve lived +for twenty-three years and never made any friends. Let’s see the +present! I love presents!” +</p> + +<p> +But he snatched the box away. +</p> + +<p> +“You needn’t be so dam’ patronizing!” he said. “I’m not a child.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re acting like one,” she said. “Oh, Miles! Don’t let’s quarrel! +I’m so—so tired…” +</p> + +<p> +“What about <i>me</i>?” he interrupted. “Why, the night I came here, I was +so sick I had to be carried into the house.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, was that you?” she cried, relieved; but added hastily, “I’m +awfully sorry you were sick, what was it?” +</p> + +<p> +“You know dam’ well!” he said. “They’ve told you. It was bootleg +whisky. It’s killing me.” +</p> + +<p> +As if in a nightmare, she knew what would come next. He would now go +on to say, with considerable profanity, that no one else cared what +happened to him, so why should <i>he</i> care? Just as her father had used +to do, with that same perverse insistence upon his unique unhappiness. +That, just as she had never known how to manage her father, she could +not now manage Miles. She was not a managing sort of girl: she had no +desire to rule, or to influence; she was only ready to help as best +she could. +</p> + +<p> +“Miles… ?” she said, with that dubious little smile. “Sit down and +light a cigarette. It’s good for the nerves.” +</p> + +<p> +For answer he slammed the box on the floor and set his heel on it, +trampled on it until the wrapping and the box inside were burst, and +she could see a beautiful assortment of chocolates being mashed. And +she, who had in her time endured so much, and with such fortitude, +began to cry. +</p> + +<p> +Miles looked at her, astounded. +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t mean—” +</p> + +<p> +“No!” she cried. “When you hurt people—you never expect them to <i>be</i> +hurt…” +</p> + +<p> +“Diana!” he said, really alarmed by her tears. “Diana… I’m sorry… I’ll +get you another box…” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s not <i>that</i>!” she said. “It’s just everything…” +</p> + +<p> +He came to her side, and took her hand, almost timidly. +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t mean to act like this!” he said, miserably. “I’d been +thinking of you all day—and looking forward so to seeing you when I +got back. You poor little kid! I meant to be—different. Diana, please +give me another chance! <i>One</i> more chance! I’ll take hold of myself, +dear! I have tried to be different since I met you. I haven’t touched +a drop since that night. Say you’ll—” +</p> + +<p> +“Diana!” said Aunt Emma’s voice. “Will you be kind enough to cook the +dinner?” +</p> + +<p> +Di glanced up, so startled that she forgot the tears still wet on her +cheeks. +</p> + +<p> +“Wren will have to sit with your Uncle Rufus,” said Aunt Emma. “He +won’t have anyone else with him; he won’t even see Doctor Coat. So +I’ll have to ask you to help me out. There’ll be the Doctor and Mr. +Purvis and your Uncle Peter and Miles and you and I—six of us. Just a +simple dinner, naturally.” +</p> + +<p> +“But—I’m awfully sorry—” said Di, “but—I’m afraid I don’t know—” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well!” said Aunt Emma. “Then, Miles, you and your father will +have to cook the best sort of dinner you can. Perhaps Diana will be +able to turn on the light in the dining-room and put the chairs at the +table.” +</p> + +<p> +“She and I will get your dinner,” said Miles. “There’s nothing Diana +can’t do, when she puts her mind on it.” +</p> + +<p> +Aunt Emma turned, and walked off, erect and composed, and Miles went +to Diana and put his arm about her shoulders. She sighed to herself, +wondering what new mood this signified, but glancing up, she saw in +his face a look that profoundly touched her, a sort of despairing +appeal. +</p> + +<p> +“Di,” he said, “if I could always be with you… I—I don’t <i>mean</i> to +be—like I am… If you loved me—we could go away from this dam’ place… +I haven’t any money, or any brains, or any character, but if I had +you, I’d get them all. If you cared—” +</p> + +<p> +“Miles,” she said. “I <i>do</i> care. I’ve liked you ever since I first saw +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“But not my way,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +She did not answer. He bent and kissed the top of her head, and moved +away. +</p> + +<p> +“Let’s cook?” he suggested. +</p> + +<p> +“You see,” Diana explained, “Father and I never exactly did any +housekeeping. He liked to eat in restaurants.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve never had a home in my life,” said Miles. “So between us we +might be able to manage something pretty original.” +</p> + +<p> +He glanced about him, then, taking the lid of a saucepan, he shoveled +up the mess of chocolates and threw it into a pail. He made no more +apologies, no more complaints; he only tried to help. +</p> + +<p> +The larder was disconcertingly bare. They found one tin of soup which +they diluted lavishly with water; they found a slab of bacon and six +eggs, and a large vegetable which baffled them. +</p> + +<p> +“I think it’s a turnip,” said Di. “Anyhow I’m sure it’s a tuber; I’m +going to treat it like a potato and peel it and boil it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Those bananas—” said Miles. “They seem pretty crude… Can’t we make +some tasty little what-not out of them! Mash them?” +</p> + +<p> +His good-humor, his willingness, made the preparation of that dinner +the pleasantest hour Di had spent in a long time. She was so immensely +glad to laugh again. She forgot, for that hour, all her anxieties, she +even forgot poor Uncle Rufus. +</p> + +<p> +“Now!” she said, at last. “I think we’ve done all the harm we can. If +you’ll please start setting the table while I dart upstairs and brush +my hair. I’ll help you when I come down. I shan’t be a minute!” +</p> + +<p> +As she hurried out of the brightly-lit kitchen, she looked back over +her shoulder, and saw Miles watching her. She smiled at him and went +on, her heart warm with a feeling of comradeship and good-will. She +went through the dark dining-room, and looked into the lounge. They +were all in there, Doctor Coat and Mr. Purvis and Aunt Emma and Uncle +Peter, but fortunately they were gathered in a group under a lamp, and +the rest of the lounge was fairly dark. She traversed it hastily, +keeping close to the desk, and ran up the stairs. +</p> + +<p> +And then, as soon as she reached that upper corridor, her happiness +deserted her; she was in another world now, where there was no youth, +no laughter, only sordid suspicion and chilly loneliness. +</p> + +<p> +Her conscience reproached her for having forgotten Uncle Rufus. After +all, she was staying here only on his account; she had money enough to +leave now; nothing kept her but her promise to him. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll just look in and see him,” she thought. “And speak to Wren.” +</p> + +<p> +She went down the dim corridor to Uncle Rufus’s room, and knocked +softly at the door. There was no answer and she hesitated to knock +louder, for fear of disturbing the old man. She tried the knob and the +door opened. +</p> + +<p> +To her surprise, the room was black, and from the open window a +current of air blew cold on her face. +</p> + +<p> +“Wren!” she whispered. +</p> + +<p> +There was no answer; no sound at all. +</p> + +<p> +Fear seized her; she stepped back into the hall and closed the door +again. +</p> + +<p> +But she knew she must go back. She could not leave the old man there +alone in that dark wind-swept room. Once more she opened the door and +felt for the switch; she turned it, but no light came. +</p> + +<p> +“Wren!” she whispered again. “Please answer!” +</p> + +<p> +The window-shade flapped in the draft made by the open door. But there +was no other sound. She groped her way toward the bed, filled with a +thought that turned her blood to ice. +</p> + +<p> +But the bed was empty. She felt over it, from head to foot, and it was +empty. +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch07"> +Chapter Seven.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">The Monstrous Night</span> +</h3> + +<p> +Back in her own room, with the light turned on and the door locked, +she tried to think coolly. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course, they may just have moved Uncle Rufus into another room,” +she said to herself. +</p> + +<p> +Then suddenly she rebelled. +</p> + +<p> +“No!” she thought. “It’s cowardly and contemptible to go on this way, +making up explanations for everything, pretending there can’t be +anything wrong. Suppose there is, and I’m just letting it go on? I +ought to make sure. I’ve got to see Uncle Rufus with my own eyes.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a knock at her door. +</p> + +<p> +“See here!” said Aunt Emma. “Will you be good enough to come down to +your dinner at once? Doctor Coat and Mr. Purvis are hungry.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I’m sorry for them,” said Di, and opened the door. “Aunt Emma,” +she said, “where’s Uncle Rufus? I went to his room, and he wasn’t +there?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nevertheless, he is in his room,” said Aunt Emma. “Perhaps with your +customary ineptitude you went to the wrong room. It’s not likely that +he’s gone out for a walk.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’d like to see him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Unfortunately, he wouldn’t like to see you. He never wants to see +anyone but Wren in the course of these attacks. To-morrow, when he’s +better, you can see him. And in the meantime, why not come downstairs +and tell Doctor Coat and Mr. Purvis your suspicions? A doctor and a +lawyer—you couldn’t ask for anything better.” +</p> + +<p> +There was something in the older woman’s cold insolence, something in +her voice, her look, that was beginning to tell heavily upon Di. She +resented it, yet in her resentment there was a sort of despair, as if +her spirit warned her that she was no match for this woman. In every +encounter she was worsted; each time Aunt Emma was able to convince +her that she was a fool. +</p> + +<p> +And she felt herself a fool now, as she went downstairs. Her aunt +introduced the two strangers to her, Doctor Coat, a courtly old fellow +with a white mustache and a handsome face, and a pleasant, rather +stupid smile; Mr. Purvis, stout, grave, and a little pompous. Was it +likely, if there was anything wrong here, that Aunt Emma would ask +them to come? It was utterly impossible to suspect them of anything +even mildly irregular. +</p> + +<p> +They all sat down to that atrocious dinner, and though the stout Mr. +Purvis looked rueful, neither of them seemed surprised. They were +apparently at home here, and accustomed to Aunt Emma’s style of +living; and they talked, without constraint, of Uncle Rufus. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think there is any chance of his seeing me to-night, Emma?” +asked Mr. Purvis. “If there is, of course I’ll wait as late as I can.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” she said. “Anyhow, he asked for you, and he knows +you’re here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Poor Rufus!” he said, with a sigh. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Doctor Coat, in his comfortable and kindly way, “he’s +been through a great many of these attacks. And with Emma’s splendid +care, we’ll hope that he’ll come through this one. There’s really no +need for me here. Although, of course, I quite understand how you feel +about it, Emma. If anything should happen there’d be criticism… Yes… +quite so… If he can be persuaded to make a will, he’ll feel very much +better. Set his house in order… quite so!” +</p> + +<p> +Then he turned to Diana. +</p> + +<p> +“I hear he’s taken a great liking to you,” he said. “Very nice, I’m +sure.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” said Di. “I’m afraid—” +</p> + +<p> +“She’s almost morbidly self-distrustful,” said Aunt Emma, +interrupting. “Like her poor mother.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Purvis and Doctor Coat both looked at Di with a sort of sympathy. +</p> + +<p> +“Come, come!” said the doctor. “Nothing so remarkable in his taking a +liking to a charming young lady like you. He was really attached to +your mother.” +</p> + +<p> +A silence fell. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m going to meet Mr. Fennel at nine o’clock,” Di was thinking. “I’m +going to tell him every single thing, and get his opinion. I want to +know if I’m just a morbid idiot, imagining things, or if there’s any +reason for being—uneasy. He’s an outsider, he’ll be unprejudiced.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Purvis began to talk now, about the League of Nations; he +addressed himself entirely to Aunt Emma, and so did Doctor Coat. +Occasionally they spoke to Di, amiably enough. Their manner toward +Miles was one of distinct disapproval; he was evidently in disgrace. +Peter Leonard they quite ignored. +</p> + +<p> +Half-past eight, and they still sat at the table over the demi-tasses +of astonishingly strong coffee Di had made. She was growing restless +and impatient, looking down at her wrist watch under the table. +</p> + +<p> +“But he said he’d wait an hour,” she thought. “There’s plenty of +time.” +</p> + +<p> +She had ceased to listen to the conversation that went on; she was +lost in her own confused and displeasing thoughts. And suddenly she +had a sort of vision of this scene, as if she were detached and +viewing it from a distance. This abandoned hotel in the woods; that +black empty room upstairs; those most unfortunate children shut up +somewhere; down here this dismantled room with chairs and tables piled +against the walls and at this one table, this group. Uncle Peter, +incredibly trivial, the “grasshopper” his son had called him; Miles, +half-base, half-fine, and wholly reckless; Doctor Coat with his +courtly air and his stupid smile; Mr. Purvis with his pompous +gravity—and herself… All fools… ? All puppets of that composed, +gray-haired woman? +</p> + +<p> +“She wanted me to come here and I came,” thought Di. “She wanted me to +stay and I’m staying. Is everything I do really what she has +planned… ?” +</p> + +<p> +It was a singularly disturbing thought. More and more did she long to +see Fennel, the outsider who could give her an unprejudiced opinion. +She thought of him; how kindly he had spoken to poor Wren, remembered +his air of quiet confidence, his steady glance… +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t realize how nice it was of him to come all this way with +Mrs. Frick’s letter,” she thought. “I didn’t even thank him…” +</p> + +<p> +Aunt Emma had risen and everyone else rose too, and proceeded toward +the lounge. Twenty minutes to nine now. +</p> + +<p> +“Come, Diana!” said Aunt Emma. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll just wash the dishes first—” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s no need for that. Wren will come down early to-morrow +morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I’ll just clear the table—” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Aunt Emma. “Leave everything as it is.” +</p> + +<p> +For a moment Diana stood looking at her. +</p> + +<p> +“I ought to take things in my own hands,” she thought. “I ought to say +I’m going out for a few minutes. She couldn’t stop me, before all +these people. This is the time. This is the time to speak.” +</p> + +<p> +It was curiously difficult to speak, but she did speak. +</p> + +<p> +“I think I’ll go out—and get a breath of fresh air,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“Miles will go with you.” +</p> + +<p> +This was a battle. +</p> + +<p> +“No, thanks,” said Di. “I’d rather go alone.” +</p> + +<p> +She was aware that everyone was listening; she was aware that her wish +to go out alone surprised them all. But she was desperate. It seemed +to her a matter of vital importance that she should conquer, should go +out openly and freely. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sorry,” said Aunt Emma, composedly. “But I can’t permit it, my +dear. This is a very lonely spot. If you object to Miles’ +conversation, he can walk behind you.” +</p> + +<p> +She was beaten. She <i>could</i> not say before all these people, that she +was going out to meet a man—“like a servant wench” Uncle Rufus had +said. And what is more, she did not need to tell Aunt Emma that. Aunt +Emma knew already. +</p> + +<p> +They all passed into the lounge and sat down; all except Diana. +</p> + +<p> +“I <i>will</i> go!” she thought. “And I’ll go openly, too.” +</p> + +<p> +As she stood by the window, Miles came over to her and offered her a +cigarette. She was glad to accept one now, and as she took it, she +looked at him, anxiously, half hoping that he might understand, and +help her. But his face was white with anger; his glance was filled +with anger and bitterness. He knew too, why she wanted to go. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll pop up and see how the invalid’s getting on!” said Uncle Peter, +brightly, and rising went running up the stairs, two steps at a time. +</p> + +<p> +No one else spoke, a stiff silence had fallen upon the little company. +Miles had gone to his seat near the lamp. +</p> + +<p> +Di opened the front door and stepped out, closed the door behind her +and began to run toward the hill; she did not stop until she had +reached the dark shelter of the trees. As she paused here a moment, +she heard someone coming after her, running. She stopped behind a tree +and waited. +</p> + +<p> +It was too dark to see, but she was certain that the figure which ran +past her was Miles. He went on plunging down the hill-side. +</p> + +<p> +“Suppose he meets Mr. Fennel?” she thought, in alarm. “And tells him I +can’t come?” +</p> + +<p> +Into her heart came the quiet conviction that Fennel wouldn’t believe +him, wouldn’t believe anyone. He had come to speak to her; he had said +he would wait for an hour and then come to the house, and he would do +that. She trusted Fennel as she had never yet in her life trusted +anyone. Miles would not be able to send him away. Fennel would not go +until he had seen her. +</p> + +<p> +The night wind was sharp; hatless and coatless, in her thin dress, she +shivered. The pines rustled in the dark and, close to her, a little +owl gave its trembling cry. +</p> + +<p> +She waited and listened. +</p> + +<p> +“It must be nine o’clock,” she thought. “He’s there and Miles will see +him. Perhaps he’ll pretend to go away, and then come back. Or perhaps +he’ll insist upon seeing me…” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps he didn’t go to look for Mr. Fennel at all,” she thought. “He +may simply have gone to the village—or rushed back to New York in a +rage.” +</p> + +<p> +She began cautiously to descend the hill, straining her ears to catch +any sound. But there was nothing but the rustle of the pines in the +wind, and the cry of the little owl. She thought of Uncle Rufus coming +down here this afternoon, and she shivered. +</p> + +<p> +At last she was in sight of the clearing and the faint starlight +showed it empty. But anyone could be standing in the shadows… She did +not like the thought of Miles, standing there waiting. She remembered +his white, angry face… +</p> + +<p> +She waited and waited. If Fennel had pretended to go away, he would +come back. Was Miles here, waiting for that? +</p> + +<p> +Her teeth began to chatter with cold. +</p> + +<p> +“Suppose I caught cold?” she thought. “Got ill—in that horrible +house?” +</p> + +<p> +She felt chilled to the bone already. +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t stand this!” she said to herself. “There’s no reason why I +shouldn’t see Mr. Fennel or anyone else, if I want to. I won’t hide. I +won’t be—secret. If Miles is there, very well! I’ll tell him what I +think of him for spying on me.” +</p> + +<p> +And she stepped down into the clearing. Was that something stirring +among the trees? +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Fennel!” she cried. +</p> + +<p> +No one came, no one answered. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Fennel!” she called, again, her voice rising to a high note of +fear. +</p> + +<p> +This would not do, panic lay this way. With an effort, she stopped +calling, and stood there, waiting. In the faint light of the stars, +she could not see the dial of her watch. She did not know how long she +had waited or must wait. Only she would endure it for as long as she +could, for surely he would come. +</p> + +<p> +She sat down on that fallen log, where she had seen him this +afternoon, curled up her feet as best she could under her short skirt, +folded her arms about her chest, and kept her vigil; in supreme +physical misery, cold and cramped, in dread, in dismay. Sometimes she +imagined she heard someone coming, and called his name, but there was +never any answer. And at last she began to see that he was not coming. +</p> + +<p> +She would have to go back to that house, to face Aunt Emma, to endure +another scene with Miles. And after all she had no friend. +</p> + +<p> +“If I had that ten dollars with me,” she thought, “I’d never go back. +I’d take a train for New York <i>now</i>. There’s nothing illegal in not +wearing a hat and coat.” +</p> + +<p> +But she had left the money in the pocket of her jersey when she had +changed her dress before dinner. And there was her promise to Uncle +Rufus. +</p> + +<p> +Again she had forgotten Uncle Rufus. She got up, sick at heart, numb +with cold, and began to climb the hill. She had promised to stand by +him, and she could not leave him there, ill and helpless. +</p> + +<p> +Light was shining from the windows of the lounge; she had no desire to +go in there. She went round to the back of the house and quietly +opened the kitchen door. The kitchen was dark, but the gas stove was +lighted, under a singing kettle; it was blessedly warm. She sat down +in a chair near the stove, to wait until this wretched chilliness was +gone, before she must pass through the lounge on her way to the +stairs. +</p> + +<p> +“He didn’t come,” she thought. “But I know he meant to come. I know he +<i>will</i> come soon. He knew there was something wrong. He’ll come.” +</p> + +<p> +She was weary, almost exhausted; she nearly went to sleep there by the +stove. But she heard that footstep. She sat up straight, her heart +beating fast. Had he come to the house, as he had said he would? +Surely that was someone coming up the back steps… +</p> + +<p> +Then a door opened beside her, the door which led to the cellar, and +clearly outlined in the bright light that shone behind him she saw +Uncle Peter, pallid, grimy, without a collar, breathing hard, and on +his face, a wild terrible look. +</p> + +<p> +She gave a cry, and he leaped forward like a cat. His hand was pressed +across her mouth, holding her head against the back of the chair. She +struggled but she could not rise, could not make any sound. Then he +drew back; she was about to cry out again when his fist shot out and +caught her on the point of the jaw and she collapsed unconscious. +</p> + +<p class="spacer"> +* * * +</p> + +<p> +When she opened her eyes again she was lying on a bed. Her head ached +cruelly; she felt deathly sick and giddy. It was utterly dark, she +could see nothing, hear nothing; for a few minutes she could not +remember. +</p> + +<p> +Then it came back to her… Uncle Peter, the trivial, the cheerful, the +one person in this house she had thought negligible… +</p> + +<p> +She sat up. At first giddiness and the pain in her head forced her +back on the pillow again, but the second time she felt better. She put +her feet on the floor and still faint and dizzy, stood upright, +holding by the head of the bed. She must find out where she was, what +this dark prison was. +</p> + +<p> +Her groping hand touched a little table, and a great hope sprang up in +her. Moving nearer, she felt the lamp; it was there; she turned the +switch and the light came. And with a sob of relief she found herself +in her own room. +</p> + +<p> +A little Paradise, it seemed to her, the safest, cosiest place in the +world. She looked about her at her own belongings with the delight of +one who has made a long and terrible journey and is at last home +again. +</p> + +<p> +Then she heard a noise in the corridor outside; a dragging, shuffling +sound. She leaned forward in her chair. The wind had risen; that sound +could be the branch of a tree brushing her window… Only it was coming +nearer. +</p> + +<p> +She knew now that this room was not safe and snug, but desperately +exposed and that there was no corner where she could hide; she was +sick and shaken, and defenseless. +</p> + +<p> +Something scratched at her door. And not near the knob, but close to +the floor, like an animal. She did not stir. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss!” whispered Wren’s voice. “Oh, Miss! For God’s sake, let me in!” +</p> + +<p> +She went to the door, but with her hand on the knob, she hesitated. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the matter?” she whispered back. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss! Oh, let me in, quick! For God’s sake!” +</p> + +<p> +But his voice came from below, as if he were at her feet… +</p> + +<p> +“Miss!” he screamed, suddenly. “Quick!” +</p> + +<p> +She turned the knob. The door was locked. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss!” he screamed again. “For—” +</p> + +<p> +His voice ceased abruptly. She heard nothing at all now. +</p> + +<p> +“Wren!” she called, rattling the knob. “I can’t! I can’t! …” +</p> + +<p> +Her knees gave way and she sank on the floor by the locked door. Her +hand touched something wet, she raised it, stared at it with dilated +eyes, saw it red with blood, and fell backward in a faint. +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch08"> +Chapter Eight.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">The Candid Explanation</span> +</h3> + +<p> +Sometime later in the night she got up from the floor, took off her +shoes and lay down on the bed, wrapped in a blanket. She was shaking +with a violent chill, tormented by a racking headache. +</p> + +<p> +All the events of the night had become only part of a vast nightmare. +She did not care what happened now, nothing mattered except to get +warm. Time had ceased to exist; there was nothing in the world but +this physical misery. +</p> + +<p> +After the chill came fever, and a raging thirst. She lay there, crying +silently because she so craved for water and could not rise to get it. +Her head ached so… The light hurt her eyes… +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the matter, my dear?” asked Aunt Emma’s voice beside her. +</p> + +<p> +“I want—a glass of water!” she sobbed. +</p> + +<p> +Her head was raised and a glass held to her lips. +</p> + +<p> +“Another!” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“Swallow these two pills with it.” +</p> + +<p> +She did not care what she swallowed, so long as she got the water. +</p> + +<p> +A cold, wet cloth was laid on her throbbing head, the unbearable light +was shaded, the tumbled covers straightened. She went to sleep. +</p> + +<p class="spacer"> +* * * +</p> + +<p> +She waked with a sigh, and stretched herself luxuriously in the cool, +smooth bed. The window was open and the sweet air blew in. Turning her +head she saw the sky filled with the soft, melting colors of sunset. +</p> + +<p> +“Now!” said Aunt Emma. “A nice cup of broth and a piece of toast.” +</p> + +<p> +She had never tasted anything better than that broth, strong and +well-flavored, that hot buttered toast without crusts. She still felt +weak, but marvelously comfortable now, except for a slight soreness in +her jaw. +</p> + +<p> +“I was afraid that last night you were in for a bad time,” said Aunt +Emma. “You were delirious—quite a temperature.” +</p> + +<p> +Di did not answer; but she heard, and she understood; her brain felt +extraordinarily lucid. She might have been delirious at some time in +the night, but at present she was perfectly clear about everything. +She remembered all the things that had actually happened with an odd +sort of detachment, as if she were no longer personally concerned. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll just let her go on,” she thought. “She’ll try to explain away +everything by saying I was delirious. All right! Let her!” +</p> + +<p> +She looked up at Aunt Emma with a glance of calm interest. +</p> + +<p> +“Was I?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“And no wonder,” said Aunt Emma. “You had—a disturbing experience.” +</p> + +<p> +She sat down in a chair by the window, where the light breeze stirred +her gray hair. She looked so rosy, so dignified, so solid… +</p> + +<p> +“If you feel able,” she said. “I think we’d better talk this over +now.” +</p> + +<p> +“I feel all right,” said Di. +</p> + +<p> +And so she did; she felt perfectly able to listen to any tale Aunt +Emma might choose to invent and to weigh and analyze it. +</p> + +<p> +“It would take a good deal of generosity,” Aunt Emma went on, “to +forgive your Uncle Peter. I don’t expect you to. But I can explain his +behavior—if you care to listen.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, thank you, I should,” said Di. +</p> + +<p> +So Aunt Emma was not going to pretend that that blow was part of any +delirium. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you object to my smoking?” asked Aunt Emma, with gentlemanly +politeness. “Perhaps with the window open, it won’t bother you… No? +Thanks!” +</p> + +<p> +She lit a cigarette, and crossed her knees. +</p> + +<p> +“We had a remarkably unpleasant evening,” she proceeded, her blue eyes +following the smoke. “It’s fortunate that Coat and Purvis are such +fools. They swallow everything… When you went out, I sent Miles after +you, but he couldn’t find you. So he did what anyone might expect of +him. He went down to the village, and procured a supply of bootleg +whisky. I saw, when he got back, that he’d been drinking, but I didn’t +know he’d brought more of the stuff into the house. He put it in the +cellar and every now and then he’d go down and get another drink. +Before long, he became very troublesome. Purvis helped me to get him +upstairs and into bed. I wanted to lock him into his room, but I +couldn’t find the key. I was seriously worried, for fear he would +molest you. I went to your room to see if you had come in while I was +busy with Miles; I knocked and when there was no answer, I opened the +door and by the light of my torch I saw that you were lying fully +dressed on the bed, apparently asleep. I spoke to you but you didn’t +answer, and I thought it better to lock your door.” +</p> + +<p> +She paused. +</p> + +<p> +“An extremely unpleasant evening…” she continued. “I didn’t know where +you’d been or what you’d been doing… I went downstairs again. Coats +and Purvis went home in a taxi, and I found your Uncle Peter in the +kitchen—almost as bad as Miles. He’d been visiting the cellar… He was +half-frightened and half-beastful. He said he had caught you trying to +escape! I’ll be quite candid with you. He thinks that Uncle Rufus is +going to leave his money to you, and that therefore you’re too +valuable to lose. I agree with him about your Uncle Rufus. And I am +perfectly willing to tell you that, if you do come into his money, I +hope you’ll give me some of it.” +</p> + +<p> +Her candor was astounding; she denied nothing that had happened, made +no attempt to disguise her motives. +</p> + +<p> +“I asked you here for that purpose,” she said. “Uncle Rufus had been +fond of your mother, and I hoped he’d take a fancy to you. And that +gratitude, or family feeling, or sentiment, would induce you to give +me enough to carry on my work.” +</p> + +<p> +Di looked at her aunt in wonder, a little dazed; everything was made +so clear, so matter-of-fact. +</p> + +<p> +“But—Wren?” she asked, almost involuntarily. +</p> + +<p> +“Wren?” her aunt repeated. “What about him? Do you know anything about +that little rat? For he’s disappeared!” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know…” said Di, with unusual caution. “I thought I heard him +call me—” +</p> + +<p> +“When?” asked Aunt Emma. “I’d like very much to know. And it might +help the police.” +</p> + +<p> +“The—<i>police</i>?” +</p> + +<p> +“He went off with your Uncle Rufus’s watch and money—some six +thousand dollars he was carrying in his pockets.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I’m sorry!” cried Di. +</p> + +<p> +“He can stand the loss very well—” +</p> + +<p> +“I wasn’t thinking of that,” said Di. “I’m sorry—for Wren.” +</p> + +<p> +“You needn’t be,” said Aunt Emma, dryly. +</p> + +<p> +There was a moment’s silence. +</p> + +<p> +“How is Uncle Rufus?” asked Di. +</p> + +<p> +“Better. He’s been asking for you. You can see him to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +There was another silence. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not,” said Aunt Emma, “extravagant in my personal life.” She +smiled faintly. “You’ve probably noticed that my housekeeping is not +lavish. But I want—I need money for my work. Your Uncle Rufus is +apparently recovering from this attack—but he can’t last much longer. +I hope that when you see him to-morrow, you’ll be as amiable as your +very youthful conscience will permit. It may mean more to you than +you’re able to realize, at your age. But I’m not pretending to think +wholly of your welfare. I am thinking of my work.” +</p> + +<p> +She lit another cigarette. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve told you something about it. I have been making researches in +regard to my theory of suggestibility. No one else has yet suspected +the suggestibility of the average mind. People talk about the ‘herd +instinct’! The human herd has long ceased to act instinctively. It +will, in fact, act in a manner directly opposed to its instinct. They +talk of ‘mob psychology.’ The only psychology of a mob is that of its +leaders. No mob acts spontaneously, but only upon the suggestion of +one or more superior minds. A little observation will show you how +infinitely more powerful suggestion is than instinct. The instinct of +a mother to protect her infant is certainly one of the strongest and +most deep-rooted. Yet mothers were willing to throw their infants into +the fire of Moloch when it was suggested to them. In times of war, it +is suggested to a man that he loves his flag more than his own life, +and he acts upon the suggestion.” +</p> + +<p> +She was silent for a moment. +</p> + +<p> +“I have been working for nearly six years with those two children you +have seen,” she said. “In minds of that type one would suppose that +mere animal instinct would enormously preponderate. I hope soon to +demonstrate that it is not so. My great difficulty has been their +propensity to imitate; and to differentiate between what is mere +imitation and what is suggested action. They are only too ready to +imitate…” +</p> + +<p> +She rose, and tossed her cigarette out of the window. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid I’m inclined to be tedious on this subject,” she said, and +for the first time Di saw on her face a smile almost appealing. “I +must get along now. I have all the cooking and so on to do, now that +Wren’s decamped. He couldn’t have chosen a worse time… Now, your Uncle +Peter will come up and apologize.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no, <i>thanks</i>!” said Di, hastily. “I’d really rather he didn’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“He ought to,” said Aunt Emma. “He’s waiting to do so. I advise you to +let him.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, thanks, really. I’d hate it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you hate <i>him</i>?” asked Aunt Emma. +</p> + +<p> +“No…” said Di. “I don’t hate him…” +</p> + +<p> +“Well!” said Aunt Emma. “I’ll be back later, with some dinner for you. +You mustn’t think of getting up to-day. But by to-morrow you ought to +be quite yourself. And after you’ve seen your Uncle Rufus, the best +thing you can do is to go back to New York. You’ve had a fairly +unpleasant visit, I’m afraid. Have you friends in New York, and enough +money to carry on for a while?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, thank you, Aunt Emma.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve brought you some books and magazines, the sort of thing I +imagine would interest you. I sent Miles for them.” +</p> + +<p> +Then she mounted a chair briskly, and set about fastening an extension +cord to the electric light and clamped a reading-lamp to the head of +the bed. She put the books and papers on the table and then took up a +queer old-fashioned little knitted sack of pink wool. +</p> + +<p> +“Let me put this around your shoulders,” she said. “Now!” +</p> + +<p> +There was something touching to Di in these attentions, something she +had liked very well in her aunt’s blunt sincerity. A sense of profound +relief filled her, as if the light of day had been admitted into some +dark chamber, and what had seemed horrible was not horrible at all. +The shadow of death had passed, Uncle Rufus was getting better and, +greatest relief of all, Aunt Emma had herself suggested that she +should leave. +</p> + +<p> +Aunt Emma’s motives were certainly not disinterested; Uncle Peter had +shown himself capable of an astounding brutality; Uncle Rufus was not +a lovable uncle. Miles was a distressing problem; Wren had turned out +to be a thief; it was not a pleasant household. But she could make +allowances now for all of them; she could forgive them their offenses +against herself, and pity their sordid failings, because to-morrow she +was leaving them and because everything here was explicable now; ugly +and depressing, but not sinister, not frightening any longer. +</p> + +<p> +“And Mr. Fennel,” she thought. “Something prevented his coming. I +<i>know</i> I’ll hear from him again. Probably to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +She lay for a time, looking out at the darkening sky, and thinking of +Fennel. She felt so certain that she could see him again, so certain +he was her friend. +</p> + +<p> +“How nice of him to have come all this way with Mrs. Frick’s letter! I +wish I hadn’t lost it. It might have explained a little about him… +He’s different from any other man I’ve seen. He’s…” +</p> + +<p> +It occurred to her that her reverie was becoming a little ridiculous, +and reaching up, she turned on the lamp, and picked up a magazine. A +footstep in the hall made her glance up, and she saw Miles in the +doorway. +</p> + +<p> +“Diana… ?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +She thought she had never seen anything more pitiable than his +handsome, wasted face, pallid, drawn, hollow-eyed; anything more +painful than his strained smile. +</p> + +<p> +“How are you?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, fine, thanks!” she answered, with artificial brightness. +</p> + +<p> +“Anything I can do for you, Diana?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not a thing in the world, thanks, Miles.” +</p> + +<p> +He was silent for a moment, and they did not look at each other. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought…” he said. “Wouldn’t you like some ice-cream, Diana? I can +run down to the village and get it…” +</p> + +<p> +She could not refuse this peace-offering. +</p> + +<p> +“That would be awfully nice,” she said, and was distressed by the +obviously false cheerfulness of her own voice. +</p> + +<p> +“All right! I’ll get it,” he said, and was gone. +</p> + +<p> +His haggard, desperate face haunted her; she began to read again, in +haste to forget him, for she could do nothing more for Miles. +</p> + +<p> +Presently Aunt Emma appeared with a tray, upon which was a supper +immeasurably better than any meal Di had yet had in this house; a +broiled lamb chop, a potato baked in its jacket, a salad of lettuce +and tomato, a cup of coffee and a slice of sponge cake. +</p> + +<p> +“How nice!” she said, pleased. +</p> + +<p> +Aunt Emma smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“I never cooked before to-day in my life,” she observed. “But with +Wren gone, I saw it was inevitable. So I sat down and studied the +cook-book for an hour, until I’d mastered the general principles of +cooking. Then I applied the theory. It’s amusing. I was tempted to do +superfluous things. That sponge cake, for instance…” She looked down +at it. “I believe it’s good,” she said. “It’s—Put it down, child, +until you’ve eaten the chop!” +</p> + +<p> +“I had to try it!” said Di. “It’s perfect!” +</p> + +<p> +Aunt Emma was manifestly pleased and so was Diana; there was a +charming atmosphere of homely good-will. Aunt Emma making a cake! +</p> + +<p> +Before her footsteps had died away, Miles returned, with the ice-cream +in a dish. +</p> + +<p> +“May I come in?” he asked, and when she said yes, he entered and set +the dish down on the table. +</p> + +<p> +“Diana…” he said. “I’m—not going to talk any more… I’ll just try to +show you… I—can’t expect you—to have any faith in me… But… but +you’ll see, Diana…” +</p> + +<p> +His voice was painfully unsteady and he did not look at her. +</p> + +<p> +“If you want anything,” he said, “I’ll be here—all the time.” +</p> + +<p> +She wanted to speak to him, but to save her life she could not think +of a word that would sound natural and friendly. Halfway to the door +he turned and looked at her, sitting there in the queer little +old-fashioned pink jacket, with her fair hair loose. And she could not +bear the look on his face. With an anxious, uncertain smile, she held +out her hand; he strode back to her, knelt beside her, holding her +hand over his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Forgive me, Diana!” he whispered. “I’m sorry…” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course!” she said, in a cheerful, matter-of-fact voice. But she +nearly wept, looking down at his dark head. From the very first she +had felt for Miles this pity, this tenderness, this unreasonable +indulgence, that was almost maternal. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m so sorry!” he said, again. “Just give me one more chance!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I will. Miles! Get up! My nice dinner’s getting cold—and the +ice-cream is melting.” +</p> + +<p> +For she felt that if he did not go at once, she would begin to cry +over him, and he would certainly misunderstand that. He sprang up, +full of contrition. +</p> + +<p> +“See you to-morrow!” she said, brightly, as he left the room, and he +smiled at her, comforted. +</p> + +<p> +She sighed profoundly and began her dinner. +</p> + +<p> +“Even when I leave here,” she thought, “I shan’t be rid of Miles; I’ll +have to go on seeing him, forever and ever. No one else seems to care +a bit for him. And he needs someone to care, so terribly. He’s +so—doomed…” +</p> + +<p> +But even the doomed Miles could not make her unhappy that evening. She +had a quiet, cosy evening, reading, an amiable little chat with Aunt +Emma; then she turned out the light and settled herself for sleep, +filled with a quiet confident happiness. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps he lives at Mrs. Frick’s,” she thought. “Anyhow, I’ll +probably hear from him to-morrow…” +</p> + +<p> +And everything was explained now; everything was clear and open. +To-morrow she would leave here, and begin a new phase of her life… +</p> + +<p class="spacer"> +* * * +</p> + +<p> +She waked with a start, and sat up in bed, her heart racing. She did +not know what had awakened her, what had startled her, but there lay +upon her the oppression of a forgotten dream. +</p> + +<p> +She turned on the light and looked about the little room. All neat and +tranquil here. What was it that she had forgotten… ? +</p> + +<p> +Then she remembered. Last night, when she had lain down on the bed, +there had been blood on her hand. And now her hand was clean. There +had been blood on the carpet, by the door… She got up and went to the +door, and, a little giddy, stooped to examine the carpet. There was +surely a faint stain there, as of something that could not be quite +scrubbed clean. +</p> + +<p> +If Wren had come to her door, unknown to anyone else, the stain would +not be faint, like this. If anyone had washed her hand, and cleaned +the carpet, then whoever had done this must know of Wren’s coming. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps Aunt Emma just didn’t want to worry me,” she said to herself, +with her old instinct to deny what was strange and unpleasant. “I’ll +ask her in the morning.” +</p> + +<p> +She turned out the light, lay down again, and resolutely closed her +eyes; immediately she had a vision of Wren crawling along the corridor +on his hands and knees, scratching at her door… “Miss! For God’s sake, +let me in! …” +</p> + +<p> +She turned on the light again, in haste. When she had spoken of Wren, +Aunt Emma had seemed startled, had asked if she had seen him. No… It +<i>was</i> queer, it was wrong, that if she had washed the blood from the +girl’s hand, she should have made no mention of it. +</p> + +<p> +Well, suppose someone else had washed her hand and cleaned the floor? +Who else? And if Wren had robbed Uncle Rufus and successfully escaped, +what was he doing outside her door, desperately urgent to be admitted? +</p> + +<p> +Everything was not clear and open. With Wren unexplained, all the rest +of the explanation was worthless. +</p> + +<p> +“Aunt Emma must have known,” she thought. “Nothing goes on here that +she doesn’t know… I don’t believe poor little Wren’s a thief, anyhow. +She’s just made that up, to explain—something… To explain what? …” +</p> + +<p> +All the old dread and confusion had returned. She took up a book and +tried to read, but every sound made her start. It was nearly morning +when she dropped asleep. +</p> + +<p> +When she opened her eyes, the sun was shining; her watch had stopped, +but she felt sure it was late. She got up at once, washed in cold +water, and began to dress. She was immensely relieved to find the +ten-dollar bill still in the pocket of her jersey; her way of escape +was still open. +</p> + +<p> +“And this time,” she thought. “I’m not going to be cautious and +tactful. I’m not going to be put off. I’m going to ask Aunt Emma +point-blank who cleaned up the carpet.” +</p> + +<p> +Her knees were still a little weak and the bruise on her jaw was still +sore, but she felt very well, and very resolute. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sick and tired of all this mystery!” she thought. “I want to know +what really happened to Wren.” +</p> + +<p> +The lounge was empty, the dining-room was empty, but in the kitchen +she found Aunt Emma washing dishes. +</p> + +<p> +“Well!” said Aunt Emma. “You’re early! Did you have a good night?” +</p> + +<p> +She looked so fresh and neat and pleasant, in her white overall, so +innocently and beneficently employed in this humdrum task, that it was +difficult to challenge her. +</p> + +<p> +“Not so very,” said Di. “I—got thinking—about Wren.” +</p> + +<p> +“About Wren?” Aunt Emma repeated. “Well, I hope we’ll soon see that +cleared up.” +</p> + +<p> +“You see,” Di went on, “he came to my door last night… I couldn’t let +him in, because the door was locked… And—blood came under the door… +On the carpet—on my hand…” +</p> + +<p> +Even here, in the kitchen where the morning sun was shining, it was +horrible to think of that. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” said Aunt Emma. “So that’s what it was? I noticed it, naturally. +But I didn’t know whether you, in your feverish condition had noticed +it or not. So I thought I’d say nothing unless you asked me. Wren, was +it? He must have hurt himself in some way.” +</p> + +<p> +Very composed, very plausible was Aunt Emma. But Di was not satisfied. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t see—” she began. +</p> + +<p> +“Wait a moment!” said Aunt Emma, and opening the back door: “Rogers!” +she called. +</p> + +<p> +A stout, clean-shaven man ran up the steps. +</p> + +<p> +“This is Detective Rogers, from the East Hazelwood Police Station. +He’s come to investigate this robbery, and Wren’s disappearance. You +must tell him everything you know—while I make you some fresh +coffee.” +</p> + +<p> +Certainly this cleared Aunt Emma from the last suspicion. She had +called in the police herself. +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch09"> +Chapter Nine.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">“Do Not Leave This House”</span> +</h3> + +<p> +“Well…” said Rogers, “it seems you were the last one to hear anything +of this man. Now what time did he knock at your door?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” said Di. +</p> + +<p> +“About what time?” +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t any idea what time it was.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ten o’clock?” +</p> + +<p> +“I really don’t know.” +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll see if we can’t get at it,” said Rogers. +</p> + +<p> +He was standing with one foot on the bottom step, and Di stood on the +kitchen porch above him, very uneasy at this unexpected examination. +There were so many things she did not wish to mention. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, what time did you have dinner?” asked Rogers. +</p> + +<p> +“About quarter to seven.” +</p> + +<p> +“And after dinner, what did you do?” +</p> + +<p> +“We went to the lounge.” +</p> + +<p> +“How long did you stay there?” +</p> + +<p> +“I—I went out—at nine o’clock for—a little walk.” +</p> + +<p> +“How far did you walk?” +</p> + +<p> +“Just to a little clearing, down the hill.” +</p> + +<p> +“How long did that take you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Five or ten minutes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you went back to the house?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. I stayed there for a while.” +</p> + +<p> +“How long? Ten minutes?” +</p> + +<p> +“Longer than that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Twenty minutes?” +</p> + +<p> +“I—I think it was longer than that. I don’t know. I didn’t see the +time.” +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll call it half an hour. Thirty minutes then, ten minutes walk +each way, that’d bring you back to the house about 9.40. Then what did +you do?” +</p> + +<p> +“I was chilly. I sat in the kitchen a little while.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ten minutes?” +</p> + +<p> +“I—don’t know.” +</p> + +<p> +“And after that?” +</p> + +<p> +“I—went to bed.” +</p> + +<p> +“You were asleep when Wren knocked at the door?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes…” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Rogers. “I guess we’ll have to let the time go. What did +Wren say to you?” +</p> + +<p> +“He asked me to let him in.” +</p> + +<p> +“What did you answer?” +</p> + +<p> +“I—think I asked him what was the matter?” +</p> + +<p> +“What did he say?” +</p> + +<p> +“He asked again for me to let him in. Then he stopped +talking—suddenly.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you hear him walk away?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“You say you found blood under the door?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“What did you do?” +</p> + +<p> +“I—think I fainted.” +</p> + +<p> +“When you came to yourself, I suppose you called for help?” +</p> + +<p> +“My aunt was there. I was—rather ill, feverish…” +</p> + +<p> +“I see…” said Rogers. “Now what dealings had you had with Wren?” +</p> + +<p> +“I never had any ‘dealings.’ ” +</p> + +<p> +“Any idea why he came to you?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“That afternoon Wren brought you a private message from a man called +Fennel?” +</p> + +<p> +“It wasn’t a ‘private’ message. He just told me that Mr. Fennel wanted +to see me.” +</p> + +<p> +“You met Fennel in the wood?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“What did you know about Fennel?” +</p> + +<p> +“He brought me a letter from a friend.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the name and address of the friend?” +</p> + +<p> +Reluctantly she gave him Mrs. Frick’s address. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re personally acquainted with Fennel?” +</p> + +<p> +“I hadn’t met him before, but—” +</p> + +<p> +“Can you describe him?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” she demanded. “He has nothing to do with this.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t be too sure of that!” said Rogers. “Now, was this Fennel a man +of medium height, slender, dark complexion and mustache, nice +gentlemanly ways?” +</p> + +<p> +“That description would apply,” said Aunt Emma from the doorway. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s ‘Smoky’ all right,” said Rogers. “That’s just the way he +works, too. What they call one of these society burglars.” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s not a burglar,” said Di, briefly. “It’s ridiculous—” +</p> + +<p> +“Now, I understand that while you were talking to this Fennel, your +uncle came, and there were words.” +</p> + +<p> +“He was angry because I’d left him alone. There weren’t any ‘words,’ +except his own.” +</p> + +<p> +“But just the same he got so excited he had some sort of fit?” +</p> + +<p> +“Attack. Heart attack,” said Aunt Emma. +</p> + +<p> +“Attack,” said Rogers. “You then went to the house, leaving Fennel +alone with your uncle? And Fennel was presently joined by Wren?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. But—” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you, at any time subsequent to this, see Fennel and Wren +together?” +</p> + +<p> +“I did,” said Aunt Emma. “After I’d invented a plausible reason for +getting Fennel out of the house, I found him out on the drive, talking +to Wren. He went away at once as soon as I appeared.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Rogers. “That’s how he works. When he was alone with the +old gentleman, he found that money in his pockets. But he was too +smart to lift it then. No… He gets Wren to do the dirty work—” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s ridiculous!” cried Di. “Mr. Fennel—” +</p> + +<p> +“He always makes a good impression,” said Rogers. “No. He’s ‘Smoky,’ +all right. Depend on it! Now, if I can just use your telephone—” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s out of order,” said Aunt Emma. +</p> + +<p> +“Too bad! Well, I’ll just take a look around the house… Old gentleman +able to answer any questions?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s not advisable for him to talk much,” said Aunt Emma. “But he’s +so disturbed about the loss of the money, it may do him good to see +that steps are being taken. If you’ll be careful to excite him as +little as possible.” +</p> + +<p> +“Trust me!” said Rogers. +</p> + +<p> +Aunt Emma addressed herself to Di. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve just put your breakfast ready in here,” she said. “You won’t +mind eating in the kitchen, my dear? And there’s a letter for you, +that came this morning. I’ll go with Rogers while he questions your +Uncle Rufus.” +</p> + +<p> +As soon as they were out of sight, Di took the letter from the table, +and tore it open. +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p class="noindent"> +“Dear Miss Leonard: +</p> + +<p> +“<i>I was very sorry indeed to fail you at our little rendezvous last +night. Believe me, it was a great disappointment to me. But +circumstances prevented it. Please accept the enclosed as a little +mark of my admiration—and my regret that we cannot meet again.</i> +</p> + +<p class="rt1"> +“<i>Yours most sincerely,</i><br> +“<span class="sc">James Fennel.</span>” +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +She unfolded the enclosed paper, and found in it a fifty-dollar bill. +</p> + +<p> +Her knees trembled under her, and she sank into a chair by the table. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no!” she said, half aloud. “Oh, no!” +</p> + +<p> +It seemed to her that she was mortally stricken by this blow, that she +could never get over it. Not only the revelation that Fennel was a +thief, but the insult of his sending her this money, the tone of his +note… +</p> + +<p> +“I liked him,” she thought, “I liked him—better than any other man +I’ve ever met.” +</p> + +<p> +She poured herself a cup of coffee, cooled it with milk and drank it. +And remembered Fennel, his steady dark eyes, his quick, vivid smile… +</p> + +<p> +“It can’t be true!” she cried to herself. +</p> + +<p> +Then she thought that perhaps other women had said that of him. “That +was the way he worked…” Other credulous women were charmed by that +smile, by that quiet, serious, almost stiff manner… +</p> + +<p> +But he had come with a letter from Mrs. Frick. +</p> + +<p> +“If only I hadn’t lost that letter!” she thought. “But I’ll see Mrs. +Frick this afternoon. I’ll ask her about him. Perhaps—” +</p> + +<p> +Perhaps he was not a thief. But he had written this insolent note, had +sent her money. +</p> + +<p> +“But maybe he didn’t realize,” she thought. “Maybe he only—wanted to +be—kind…” Kind? “My regret that we cannot meet again…” +</p> + +<p> +The profound instinct of her nature was loyalty. She had a quick, and +remarkably sound intuition in the reading of character; she saw +people’s virtues, and forever cherished them; she saw their weaknesses +and could excuse them. And she had seen in that man something strong +and fine, something which her heart refused to discredit. She was +cruelly affronted by his letter, profoundly troubled by the suspicion +that Rogers had evoked, but she <i>could not</i> dismiss Fennel as utterly +worthless. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t understand!” she thought, in despair. “I’ll put him out of my +mind. I’ll forget him. I must forget him.” +</p> + +<p> +But she did not. A leaden oppression weighed upon her. That Rogers +seemed so confident, so resolute; suppose he found Fennel, arrested +him, sent him to prison? +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll have to be a witness,” she thought. “Against him… I’ll have to +admit that I left him alone with Uncle Rufus… And this letter—” +</p> + +<p> +She jumped up, went to the dining-room door, listened, and when she +was sure she was not seen, set fire to the letter and burnt it to +ashes in a plate, then threw the ashes out of the window and rinsed +the plate. +</p> + +<p> +Now she was finished with Fennel. +</p> + +<p> +She was still trying to eat the excellent breakfast set out for her +when her aunt re-entered the room. +</p> + +<p> +“Not very satisfactory,” she observed, with a sigh. “Your Uncle Rufus +is difficult to handle. And this detective… Their one idea is to see +these men in jail. <i>I</i> don’t want Wren in jail. I want him here, in +the kitchen. He was very useful to me. As for his theft, it didn’t +surprise me. Naturally not. I knew he’d been in jail before. Only +here, until Uncle Rufus came, there was nothing for him to steal.” +Again she sighed. “Now there’ll be all the stupidity and bother of a +trial… Of course they’ll catch Fennel and Wren.” +</p> + +<p> +Fennel and Wren bracketed together. +</p> + +<p> +“They may not,” said Di. +</p> + +<p> +“Uncle Rufus told this detective that every one of the missing bills +was marked, with two crosses in green ink on the corners. That will +make it much easier to trace them.” +</p> + +<p> +She took a packet of cigarettes from her overall pocket and lit one. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll want to see Uncle Rufus,” she said. “And then Miles will drive +you in to New York.” +</p> + +<p> +Di remembered her promise. +</p> + +<p> +“I think Uncle Rufus expects me to stay…” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“You can ask him,” said Aunt Emma. “Now, while we’re here, +undisturbed, I want to have a little talk with you. It’s not going to +be very pleasant for either of us, but I’m afraid it can’t be +avoided.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s about Fennel,” thought Di, and clasped her hands together under +the table. +</p> + +<p> +“I am in need of money,” Aunt Emma went on, “desperately in need of +money to carry on my work. Neither Peter nor Miles are able—or +willing—to help me. I have no one else. That is why I am going to +tell you—what it would be kinder not to tell you.” +</p> + +<p> +Di waited, very pale. +</p> + +<p> +“You know, of course, what your father was like,” Aunt Emma went on. +“But you can’t remember your mother. She was one of the very few +persons—she was perhaps the only person who was ever really fond of +me. I don’t know why. There is nothing natural about affection. +Certainly when Harvey was first married, I felt nothing but disgust +and annoyance. I knew he couldn’t support a wife and I knew he’d ask +me to help him. He did. At that time, I had all the money I needed for +the rest of my life. I wasn’t by any means rich, but my father had +left me enough money to live on, so that I could work without +troubling about my daily bread. When Harvey came to me for money, I +refused him. I had nothing whatever to spare and he knew it. +</p> + +<p> +“Then he sent his wife. She was a pretty girl… Very pretty, very +gallant and honest…” she was silent for a moment. +</p> + +<p> +“Poor little Inez…” she said. +</p> + +<p> +It seemed to Di that this was intolerable, beyond her powers of +endurance. +</p> + +<p> +“She came, like you, and offered to help me with my work, for a small +salary—any salary… She was quick and intelligent, but pitiably unfit +for scientific work. And not strong. She tired easily. I was glad to +lend her small sums of money from time to time, but I couldn’t let her +work for me. I don’t know how they managed to live. It must have been +hard for her. I have never seen anyone change so… Then one day she +came to me. She was ill then, very ill and desperate. Your father was +seriously involved in some discreditable business. I admit that he was +more of a fool than a knave; he hadn’t realized what he was doing. But +that wouldn’t have helped him, in court. Inez literally didn’t have a +penny. She came here, with you… And I was sorry for her. I helped your +father out of his difficulty, and I set them on their feet again. To +do this, I had to sell some of my holdings, and my income was cut in +half. And I’ve never had one day free from financial anxiety since +then.” +</p> + +<p> +She rose. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s all,” she said. “I have no proofs. It never occurred to me to +demand any sort of written acknowledgment from your father. I knew +he’d never be able to repay me. If you choose to do so, when you come +into Uncle Rufus’s money—” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll sign—a note—or something—” said Di, unsteadily. +</p> + +<p> +“It wouldn’t be worth the paper it was written on,” said Aunt Emma. +</p> + +<p> +“Then I’ll give you—my word—that if I ever do get any money—” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well!” said Aunt Emma. “I know you mean that—now. But when +you’ve left here, you’ll begin to think. ‘Why should I believe Aunt +Emma. She has no proof. It’s very much more agreeable not to believe +her.’ ” +</p> + +<p> +“Then what <i>can</i> I do?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing,” said Aunt Emma. “Except remember. Now you’d better come and +see your Uncle Rufus.” +</p> + +<p> +Di rose and followed her. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish I’d never been born,” she thought. +</p> + +<p> +All her past was clouded with the sorrow of her mother, with disgrace +and misery. The present was beyond measure bitter, and lonely; she had +no friends, no home, no money, and that letter from Fennel was to her +like a personal disgrace. +</p> + +<p> +“There must be something—wrong in me,” she thought, “or he wouldn’t +have dared to do that. He must have been sure I wouldn’t show the +letter or the money to the police. He must have seen…” +</p> + +<p> +They mounted the stairs and went to Uncle Rufus’s room. She remembered +that she had believed she found it dark and empty the other evening, +but, with so many empty rooms, it would be very easy to make a +mistake. It was not empty now, Uncle Rufus lay in the bed, and Uncle +Peter sat beside him, sprawled out in a chair. The blind was drawn +down, and the room looked singularly gloomy and depressing for a +sick-room. +</p> + +<p> +Uncle Peter sprang up as they entered. +</p> + +<p> +“Morning!” he said to Di, in a muffled, embarrassed voice. “I hope +you’re well?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, thanks,” she answered, curtly enough. +</p> + +<p> +“Uncle Rufus,” said Aunt Emma, mildly. “Here’s Diana. Do you want to +talk to her?” +</p> + +<p> +“No!” said the old man, curtly. +</p> + +<p> +He was, she thought, a remarkably unpleasant object, sitting propped +up with pillows, wrapped in a voluminous dressing-gown, and wearing on +his head a red Turkish fez with a jaunty black tassel. And the room +was so dim, so close, so horribly depressing… She went nearer to the +bed. +</p> + +<p> +“Would you like me to stay here—in the house—?” she asked, in a low +voice. “Until you’re feeling better, Uncle Rufus?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t care what you do,” he answered, and flounced over on his +side, with his back to her. +</p> + +<p> +She waited for a moment and then turned away. Aunt Emma was still in +the doorway, with a faint smile on her lips. +</p> + +<p> +“We’re not a demonstrative family,” she observed. “Now… Do you want to +go at once or wait until after lunch?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’d like to help you—wash the dishes—or something,” said Di. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s a woman coming from the village to do all that, thanks.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I’ll pack now,” said Di, and went to her own room. +</p> + +<p> +Locking her door she took the fifty-dollar bill out of her pocket and +examined it. On two corners there were tiny crosses made in green ink. +</p> + +<p> +“What shall I do with it?” she thought. “I ought to get it back to +Uncle Rufus somehow. It’s his…” +</p> + +<p> +She stood looking at it, feeling to the fullest extent all her +desolation, her grief, her disappointment. She was going—to what? To +no other friend than Mrs. Frick, and going back in immeasurably worse +condition than she had left, saddened by the knowledge of her mother’s +past suffering, worn out by the horrible experiences she had had here, +humiliated by her betrayed trust in Fennel, still half-sick from her +recent fever, defeated… +</p> + +<p> +Then, suddenly, her spirit rose in arms. She <i>would not</i> be defeated +and humiliated. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve done nothing to be ashamed of!” she said to herself. “I’m going +to go back to New York and forget all this. As if it were a nightmare. +I have all my life before me. I <i>won’t</i> be miserable! I won’t!” +</p> + +<p> +She opened her trunk briskly and the sight of the dresses that +Angelina had given her was balm to her. +</p> + +<p> +“Angelina will come back some day,” she thought. “Lord! It’s good to +remember that there are people like her in the world—happy people, +full of life and courage. This house isn’t the world. Once I get away, +I’ll see everything differently. I’m afraid my family isn’t +very—wholesome.” +</p> + +<p> +She looked out of the window, and saw the blue April sky, and her +spirits rose and rose. +</p> + +<p> +“Even if Miles is pretty awful, driving in,” she thought, “it’ll soon +be over. To-night—this very night—I’ll be at Mrs. Frick’s! I’ll go +out to an Italian restaurant and have a nice little dinner. Perhaps +I’ll take Mrs. Frick to the movies. It’ll be like Heaven, after this!” +</p> + +<p> +She powdered her nose and put on her hat, and the very sight of +herself in a hat was a delight. At last she was going. She picked up +her bag and turned toward the door. +</p> + +<p> +On the carpet, near the door, was a white square of paper. She stooped +and picked it up. There were some words written on it in pencil: +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p> +“Do not leave this house. If you go they will kill me. Burn this. For +God’s sake, do not leave this house.” +</p> + +</blockquote> + + +<h3 id="ch10"> +Chapter Ten.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">The Forbidden Room</span> +</h3> + +<p> +There was no one to turn to, no one to consult, no one to help her. +</p> + +<p> +She read and re-read those words, scrawled on what seemed a scrap torn +from a paper bag. +</p> + +<p> +“I think—it’s Wren…” she said to herself. “He tried to tell me +something before. He’s still here…” +</p> + +<p> +She thought of Rogers. If Wren were really in danger… ? But Rogers +would find him and arrest him, send him to prison. She was not asked +to give any assistance, only not to go away, as if only her presence +here prevented a crime. +</p> + +<p> +“Aunt Emma wants me to go,” she thought. +</p> + +<p> +After all, was it Wren who had written? It might be someone else. +Uncle Rufus, perhaps? He had told her plainly enough that he believed +his life to be in danger, and had asked her to remain here. Perhaps he +had been somehow intimidated, and dared not urge her to stay while +those people were in the room. +</p> + +<p> +But whoever had written, and whatever the cause, she could not go +until she had discovered the meaning of that note. She took off her +hat and almost laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t go,” she thought. “I’ll <i>never</i> be able to leave—” +</p> + +<p> +That was a bad thought to entertain. Never be able to leave? Had she +known that the first day she came here? Something had weighed so +heavily upon her then… As if she had known that she could never get +away, never get back to the cheerful outside world, that here was the +end… +</p> + +<p> +“No!” she said to herself. “I cannot think—things like that. I have +no one but myself to depend on now. I’ve got to keep cool. I’ve got to +be sensible.” +</p> + +<p> +She tore the note into fragments, and putting them into the +wash-basin, let the water run on them until they were washed down the +drain. +</p> + +<p> +What helped her was the thought that some other human creature had +appealed to her. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve got to find out,” she said to herself. “I’ve got to use my +wits.” +</p> + +<p> +There was, first of all, the ordeal of telling Aunt Emma that she had +changed her mind about going. She discovered then that she was afraid +of Aunt Emma; Uncle Peter had been brutal, Uncle Rufus not much +better, Miles was dangerously uncertain, yet of all the inmates of +this house, Aunt Emma, who had tended her kindly when she was ill, who +had brought up her meals, Aunt Emma was the one she feared most. +</p> + +<p> +“But I have the advantage now,” she told herself. “Aunt Emma expects +to get money from me. She can’t afford to antagonize me. I’ve got to +use that advantage.” +</p> + +<p> +She opened her door and went out into the corridor. There was no +reason why that long red-carpeted hall should seem horrible to her; no +reason to think the silence here was sinister… A door opened behind +her, and Aunt Emma came out. +</p> + +<p> +“Ready?” she asked. “If you are, I’ll call Miles.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve been thinking—” said Di. “While I was dressing I felt—quite +miserable… If you don’t mind, I’d like to stay here, in the country, +for another day or so, until I feel better.” +</p> + +<p> +Aunt Emma made no answer for a time. +</p> + +<p> +“I think you’re making a mistake,” she said at last. “This house isn’t +good for you.” +</p> + +<p> +A threat, was that? +</p> + +<p> +“The country’s so pretty, this time of the year,” said Di. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re highly nervous and impressionable,” Aunt Emma went on. “If I’d +realized that before, I’d never have let you come here. There’s +something about this house…” +</p> + +<p> +She came quickly down the hall, and turned the knob of the door next +to Uncle Rufus’s room. It opened, she looked at the lock, looked down +at the floor, and then closed the door again. +</p> + +<p> +“Let me try your key!” she said, and Di gave it to her. +</p> + +<p> +“No, it doesn’t fit,” she said. “Very well! If you’re going to stay +here, let me earnestly warn you against going into that room.” +</p> + +<p> +“That—sounds like Bluebeard,” said Di, with a pretty poor attempt at +lightness. +</p> + +<p> +Aunt Emma stood with her back to the door, looking at the girl with a +faint smile. +</p> + +<p> +“After Bluebeard was dead,” she said, “and the unlucky wives removed, +do you think the family ever cared much for that little room?” +</p> + +<p> +Di looked back at her, not understanding, yet uneasy. +</p> + +<p> +“I imagine,” Aunt Emma proceeded, “that no one would ever use that +room again. Even when the sun shone into it. Even if the castle were +pulled down, one stone from the walls of that room, built into some +other wall, would bring dreams…” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, but Bluebeard never lived here,” said Di, more and more +disturbed. +</p> + +<p> +“I believe you went in there once, by mistake, thinking it was Uncle +Rufus’s room,” said Aunt Emma. “Perhaps you felt then that it +wasn’t—” she paused—“a good room for you to be in,” she added, with +the grim shadow of a smile. “If you’re going to stay here, I warn you, +for your own peace of mind. There’s nothing there. See!” She flung +open the door, and Di saw a neat bare room with the usual hotel +furnishings. Aunt Emma closed the door again. “Don’t go in there—<i>if +you can help it</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“That shouldn’t be difficult,” said Di, smiling herself. +</p> + +<p> +For she was, to the best of her ability, defying Aunt Emma. She knew +she must do this, for the good of her soul. She must not be repressed +or dismayed. +</p> + +<p> +“Can I help you with the lunch?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +Aunt Emma accepted the offer, and they went downstairs together. And +all the way, Di was thinking “Why mustn’t I go into that room? And why +should I want to?” +</p> + +<p> +She tried to forget that room. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve stayed here to find out who wrote me that note,” she told +herself. “That’s the important thing. That’s what I must think of.” +</p> + +<p> +But she kept on thinking about the room. She remembered going into it +that night, finding it empty and dark, with the wind blowing into it. +And hadn’t she, even then, felt something there, something terrible… ? +</p> + +<p> +“No!” she said to herself. “And anyhow, it doesn’t matter. That’s not +the important thing.” +</p> + +<p> +She moved about the kitchen, working under Aunt Emma’s directions, +beating eggs for an omelette, making cocoa for Uncle Rufus. +</p> + +<p> +“Did she mean that something had happened in that room? Well, what of +it? Nothing to do with me! I <i>must</i> think about that note. I must do +something.” +</p> + +<p> +With no little effort, she forced herself to return to that subject. +</p> + +<p> +“It must have been written either by Wren or Uncle Rufus. The first +thing is, to find out if Uncle Rufus wrote it. If he didn’t, then Wren +must be somewhere in the house…” +</p> + +<p> +That was not an agreeable thought, that someone was hidden in this +house, among all these empty rooms. +</p> + +<p> +“If I find that Uncle Rufus wrote it, I’m going to tell that +detective,” she thought. “But if it was Wren—I can’t. He did all he +could for me. I won’t help to send him to jail.” +</p> + +<p> +“Diana,” said Aunt Emma, “will you take this tray up to your Uncle +Rufus? Then come down, and we’ll have our own lunch.” +</p> + +<p> +Di took the tray and went toward the door. +</p> + +<p> +“The back stairs,” said Aunt Emma, opening a door, “It saves a good +many steps.” +</p> + +<p> +Di had not known before of this back stairway leading up from the +kitchen. It was dark, with a closed door at the top, and darker still +as Aunt Emma closed the kitchen door behind her. And at once, as that +door shut, she began thinking again of the forbidden room. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, how stupid and disgusting of me!” she cried to herself, in a sort +of despair. “Exactly like Bluebeard’s wife! Just because Aunt Emma +said not to go into it… She probably did that on purpose—one of her +horrible psychological experiments… Perhaps she wants to divert my +mind from other things…” +</p> + +<p> +She reached the door at the top, and had to set down the tray, to open +the door. +</p> + +<p> +“If only I can get a word alone with Uncle Rufus… And I’ll look into +that room, just to prove to myself…” +</p> + +<p> +She came out into an unfamiliar corridor, that branched off from the +main one; this one, too, was lined with closed doors. +</p> + +<p> +“There must be at least twenty-five empty rooms in this floor,” she +thought. “And I don’t know what’s upstairs. There’s the cellar, too. +It’s all very well for me to talk about ‘searching the house,’ but +it’s not going to be an easy job. Especially without being seen…” +</p> + +<p> +Uncle Rufus’s door was closed, and she knocked. There was no answer, +and presently she knocked again. The silence alarmed her; she tried +the handle, and found the door locked. +</p> + +<p> +“Uncle Rufus!” she called. +</p> + +<p> +A door across the corridor opened and Uncle Peter appeared. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” he said, jauntily. “A little refreshment! I can do with that!” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s for Uncle Rufus,” said Di, indignantly. “His door’s locked—” +</p> + +<p> +“I know,” said Uncle Peter, with his old apologetic air. “He was +asleep, and I just stepped into my own room for a smoke—” +</p> + +<p> +“Please unlock the door!” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly!” he said. “Certainly!” He took the key from his pocket, +put it into the lock and flung open the door. +</p> + +<p> +Uncle Rufus was not asleep; he was sitting bolt upright in the bed in +that dark, close room. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you feeling better?” Di asked, stirred to pity and concern for +him. +</p> + +<p> +He only shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“Here’s some nice hot cocoa,” she went on. “Will you let me—?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll have to feed him,” whispered Uncle Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Let me!” said Di. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” protested Uncle Peter. “I understand his ways, y’know.” Di went +nearer to the bed, but Uncle Peter blocked the way. “Please don’t get +him worked up!” he whispered. +</p> + +<p> +Di looked over her shoulder at the old man and saw him looking at her +sidelong. +</p> + +<p> +“Uncle Rufus!” she cried. “Please—just tell me how you feel?” +</p> + +<p> +“Better!” he croaked, in a hoarse voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Is there anything I can do for you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t go till I’m better—” he said, in that same hoarse, painful +voice. +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t!” she said. “Wouldn’t you like—?” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s hungry,” Uncle Peter explained, and at once began feeding him +with the cocoa. “When you go down, would you mind telling your Aunt +Emma that <i>I’m</i> hungry too? She keeps me shut up here… Least she can +do is to remember my food.” +</p> + +<p> +“Uncle Rufus,” said Di, looking steadily at the old man. “I’ll stay. +I’ll be here—all the time—if you want anything. I’ll come back after +lunch and see you.” +</p> + +<p> +The room was too dim for her to see his face clearly at that distance, +but she hoped that he understood. +</p> + +<p> +“He wrote that note,” she thought. “He’s afraid. Something horrible is +going on.” +</p> + +<p> +As she left the room, Uncle Peter closed the door behind her, and she +heard the key turn in the lock. The impulse seized her to bang on the +door and make him open it again. She could not endure the thought of +the old man locked in there, helpless and frightened. And in spite of +her previous experience with him, she had no fear of Uncle Peter, only +contempt. +</p> + +<p> +“But that wouldn’t do any good,” she thought. “I’ll have to handle +this thing better than that. Somehow, I’m going to get away this +afternoon and find that detective.” +</p> + +<p> +She had almost reached the head of the front stairs when something +checked her. That room… Now was her chance to look at it, to rid +herself, once and for all, of this preposterous obsession. +</p> + +<p> +She turned back, she hesitated; she listened. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps that’s just what Aunt Emma wants,” she thought. “For me to go +in there. Perhaps there’s something—I won’t like…” +</p> + +<p> +Better to see it, though, whatever it was; better to go, and be done +with it. She went softly past Uncle Rufus’s door, to that other door, +put her hand on the knob. And again she hesitated. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps I’ll be sorry…” she said to herself. +</p> + +<p> +But she turned the knob, and opened the door. +</p> + +<p> +Nothing there, surely, to trouble the most timid. Through the window +she could see the blue sky, the tree tops, inside, only a dusty +neatness. She stepped over the threshold. +</p> + +<p> +Then she felt it. A strange tingling in her veins, a dread, an +excitement, that made her heart beat fast. But there was nothing +there; nothing at all… +</p> + +<p> +She looked toward the door of the clothes-closet. +</p> + +<p> +“All right!” she said, aloud, and with a sort of rush, went over to it +and flung it open. Nothing there but empty shelves and hooks. She +closed the door again, and looked about her. Nothing anywhere. +</p> + +<p> +Yet somehow this blankness did not reassure her. Her oppression, her +feeling of dread and excitement was increasing; she could not believe +there was really nothing here; she felt only that she had not +found—what there was to find. She opened the drawers of the bureau; +all empty. +</p> + +<p> +And her fear grew. There was something here, something in the very air +that stifled her. She hurried to the window, to open it, and stopped +there, with her face grown white as chalk. +</p> + +<p> +For printed on the window-sill in neat black letters was a name: +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p class="center"> +“<span class="sc">Inez.</span>” +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +Her mother’s name… Why was that here? +</p> + +<p> +Ever since she had come into this house, she had been hearing of her +mother, had been led back to her vague, childish memories of her. It +had always saddened her to think of her mother, and now with that +sorrow there was something else, something dark and dreadful. She +looked and looked at that name on the window-sill until suddenly she +turned and ran out of the room, shutting the door behind her. Tears +were running down her cheeks; she was shaken to the soul by an emotion +she could not comprehend. +</p> + +<p> +“What is it?” she said to herself. “Oh, what is this… ?” +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch11"> +Chapter Eleven.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">Di Gets Another Letter</span> +</h3> + +<p> +In her own room she bathed her eyes in cold water, and then went down +by the front stairs to the kitchen. And her heart sank at the sight of +Miles there, slouched in a chair, smoking a cigarette. +</p> + +<p> +“How ill he looks!” she thought, shocked by his pallor, his +haggardness. +</p> + +<p> +He glanced up as she entered, without a smile, without a word. +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll eat in here,” said Aunt Emma. “Get up, Miles, and bring your +chair to the table.” +</p> + +<p> +He obeyed, still in silence, still smoking. Aunt Emma set on the table +a savory little ham omelette, fried potatoes and a pot of tea; she +seemed very pleased with her skill in cooking—and with reason—but +she had, apparently, no ideas at all about attractive serving. They +ate upon the bare table, from the coarse kitchen china. +</p> + +<p> +Miles did not eat at all; Aunt Emma paid no attention to this; she sat +at the end of the table with a pleased and cheerful expression upon +her healthy face, but Di was troubled. +</p> + +<p> +“Miles, do eat!” she said. +</p> + +<p> +He pushed back his chair and rose. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t,” he said. “My head aches…” +</p> + +<p> +“You can drive down to the drug-store,” said Aunt Emma, “and get a +little prescription filled for me. The fresh air will do you good. +Take Diana with you.” +</p> + +<p> +The prospect of a drive with Miles was by no means pleasant, +especially in his present condition. +</p> + +<p> +“Let’s walk instead,” said Di. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t,” said Miles, briefly. +</p> + +<p> +He began walking up and down the kitchen; then abruptly he stopped +beside her chair. +</p> + +<p> +“Di,” he said. “<i>Won’t</i> you come?” +</p> + +<p> +She looked up at him; their eyes met, and she was dismayed by the +anguish she saw. +</p> + +<p> +“All right!” she said, with a sigh. “First let’s help Aunt Emma—” +</p> + +<p> +“The woman from the village will be here in half an hour,” said Aunt +Emma. “Run along! I don’t need you.” +</p> + +<p> +Di went upstairs to get her hat and coat, went almost mechanically. +Her mind felt blank, her heart numbed, as if she had exhausted her +capacity for thinking and feeling. Only that sorrow stirred her as she +passed the forbidden door, sorrow, formless as a dream. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m tired,” she thought. “I don’t care very much now—about anything… +I ought to do something about Uncle Rufus, though.” +</p> + +<p> +It was such an effort to think. Again she put on her hat, remembering +with a sort of wonder how happy she had been this morning, thinking +that at last she was free. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t go,” she thought, “until I’m sure that Uncle Rufus is getting +proper care. He wants me here… Something horrible is going on, and +I’ve got to stop it. And I’ve got a chance now… I can telephone from +the drug-store. To whom?” +</p> + +<p> +She could not think. Somebody must come now to help her. She must tell +someone now—but who was there? Uncle Rufus had not a friend on earth +and neither had she. There was no possible use in telling Mrs. Frick +about this. Then who? +</p> + +<p> +“Doctor Coat? No. He thinks Aunt Emma’s a wonderful person. Mr. +Purvis? He’s a lawyer. If I tell him about the note—about the other +things… It’s got to be Mr. Purvis. When we go to the drug-store, I’ll +ring him up. I don’t care if Miles hears me.” +</p> + +<p> +She came downstairs again, and found Miles waiting outside in the car. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll drive carefully, won’t you, Miles?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Miles. +</p> + +<p> +That was not a promising beginning. He started the car with a jerk and +went down the hill at a reckless speed, swung round the corner and +into the main road. +</p> + +<p> +“Miles!” she cried. “You’ll be arrested!” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t care!” he answered. +</p> + +<p> +“Miles! There’s a policeman on a motor-cycle—” +</p> + +<p> +That was a lie, but it checked him; he slowed down considerably. +</p> + +<p> +“God!” he said. “I wish I had enough courage to crash into a wall and +finish.” +</p> + +<p> +“Isn’t that just a little inconsiderate?” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Miles. “You’d be better off dead.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose I have something to say about that, though.” +</p> + +<p> +Now that he was driving more moderately, his wild talk did not very +greatly disturb her. She had heard that sort of thing before. Her +father, in his bad hours, had used to tell her gloomily it would have +been better if she had never been born; he had used to say that life +was no more than a curse. Even as a child, her native courage, her +wholesome sanity, had rebelled against that, and she rebelled now. It +might be that she herself had very little, but life was good. It was +beautiful out here, in the Spring sun; there was a place for her in +the world, work for her to do, happiness for her, somewhere, and for +everyone. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s sick,” she thought. “In body and mind. And I’m afraid I can’t +help him. I’m so tired—it’s hard to think of anything at all to say.” +</p> + +<p> +But it was impossible for her not to try. +</p> + +<p> +“Miles,” she said. “Why don’t you get a job?” +</p> + +<p> +“What for?” +</p> + +<p> +“You’d be much happier—” +</p> + +<p> +He laughed, a theatrical and bitter laugh. +</p> + +<p> +“You would!” she persisted. “I’m going back to New York presently to +look for a job myself. And if you find something to do—we can have +nice times together. We can have little dinners together, and go +places…” +</p> + +<p> +Even while she was speaking, she didn’t believe in it; that cheerful, +normal world outside had lost reality for her. But she went on, +valiantly. +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll have such nice times… On Saturday afternoons we’ll—” +</p> + +<p> +“Di!” he cried. “You don’t know… !” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I do, Miles. You’re—upset now. You’re not feeling well. You +don’t see things as they really are. Why, Miles, think how young you +are! Everything still before you—” +</p> + +<p> +“If you knew—what was behind me!” +</p> + +<p> +“It doesn’t matter, Miles. If there’s anything you’re sorry for, or +ashamed of—” +</p> + +<p> +“Sorry for!” he cried. “Oh, God!” +</p> + +<p> +“Then look ahead, Miles. Make up your mind that things will be +different in the future.” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s no possible future for me.” +</p> + +<p> +In her fatigue and depression, it seemed almost unendurable to be +obliged to keep this up. But no one else would bother with Miles, no +one else would try to help, and she could see how sorely he was in +need of help. +</p> + +<p> +“There is, Miles.” +</p> + +<p> +As he turned to look at her, the car swerved a little. +</p> + +<p> +“Diana,” he said. “Do you really care what happens to me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” she answered, promptly. “I do.” +</p> + +<p> +“Even if I’ve done something… something…” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Miles,” she said, steadily. +</p> + +<p> +He turned the car to the side of the road and stopped it. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you care enough—to save my life?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course,” she said, uneasily. +</p> + +<p> +“Then will you marry me?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Miles.” +</p> + +<p> +“Look here, Diana! I’ve got a little money—enough for us to get away +somewhere… We’ll go to South America, Di. I’ll start all over again. +I’ll be anything you want, Di, I’ll do anything you want, Di, Di, my +darling! If you’re with me, Di, I’ll be all right! Di, I <i>can’t</i> live +without you!” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t need to, Miles,” she said. He had seized both her hands, +and she made no attempt to withdraw them. She had to be careful now, +very careful, if she was to help him. “Only, we’ve got to learn to +know each other.” +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t live without you!” he cried. “I won’t try!” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re not going to be without me. We’re going to see lots of each +other—and have such good times together—” +</p> + +<p> +“That won’t do,” he interrupted. “It’s all or nothing. Either you’ll +marry me and come away with me—or—” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing of the sort, Miles,” she said, almost sternly. “We’re going +to be the best of friends—” +</p> + +<p> +“Will you marry me?” he demanded. +</p> + +<p> +“Miles, I can’t—” +</p> + +<p> +He started the car again, driving not recklessly now, but steadily as +if with a purpose. +</p> + +<p> +“This isn’t the way to the drug-store,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he said. “It’s not. We’re going somewhere else.” +</p> + +<p> +“Please tell me, Miles!” +</p> + +<p> +He would not answer her; he drove on and on, through a little town, +through pleasant roads lined with old trees and comfortable houses, +past woods, past fields. His face was set and grim; there was +certainly some purpose now in his tormented heart. Time and again she +tried to divert him, but he would not answer her. And she grew afraid. +Was this to be the end, a sickening crash, perhaps hours of suffering, +and then death… ? +</p> + +<p> +“Miles!” she entreated. “Please stop! Please tell me where you are +going?” +</p> + +<p> +“To hell!” he shouted. +</p> + +<p> +They shot up a hill, and he stopped the car. Beside them was a little +bridge over a railway cut. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s a train coming now,” he said. “When it’s in sight, I’m going +to jump.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, you’re not!” she said, but he only laughed. +</p> + +<p> +In despair she looked about her; there was not a living creature in +sight, only the empty road, with a wood on one side and the bridge on +the other. The distant train whistled. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall try to hold you,” she said. “If you—struggle—you may kill +me, Miles.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then we’ll die together,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +The sun was shining and the wind blew on this deserted hill-top. Again +the train whistled. He got up, and she caught his coat-sleeve, but he +was much stronger than she. He got out of the car, and she followed, +pulling desperately, to prevent his setting foot on that bridge. +</p> + +<p> +“You shan’t!” she cried. “Miles! Miles! If you really do care for me +one bit—” +</p> + +<p> +The train was in sight. He tried to wrench himself free, but she flung +her arms about him; he tried to push her away, but she twisted her +foot round his ankle; he stumbled and fell on his knees. And she +pressed down on his shoulders with all her might. The train went by, +shaking the little bridge. +</p> + +<p> +She thought then that she was going to faint; she stepped back a +pace—and she saw, at her feet a letter that had fallen from his +pocket. A letter addressed to herself. She stooped and snatched it up. +</p> + +<p> +“Give that to me!” he cried. +</p> + +<p> +She began to run. +</p> + +<p> +She ran downhill, and she heard his footsteps on the hard road behind +her. She ran faster, faster than she would have believed possible, +with the strength of desperation. He was close behind her. Nothing +about but the empty road. +</p> + +<p> +“Stop!” he shouted. +</p> + +<p> +She ran and ran. Nothing ahead but that straight road, and her +strength was beginning to fail her now; her breath was coming in +gasps; her laboring heart sent all the blood pounding in her ears. +Then at the foot of the hill she saw the level crossing of the +railway, and a little hut where the guard sat. He was looking at her +now… Such a long way… +</p> + +<p> +Her second wind came to her now; she quickened her pace; she stumbled +and recovered herself, flew down the rest of the hill, to the doorway +of the little shelter. She could not speak, only stand there, panting, +facing the astonished old man. Then she turned her head; she saw +Miles, a few paces distant, standing in the middle of the road. They +looked at each other, a strange look, then he turned round and started +up the hill again. +</p> + +<p> +“Miles!” she called after him. But she was still breathless, her voice +was faint, either he did not hear, or he did not care. She wanted to +tell the old man to hurry, to save Miles, but she could not say a +word. +</p> + +<p> +“Sit down, Miss!” said the old man, pushing forward his chair. +</p> + +<p> +She pointed after Miles, and half fell into the chair. +</p> + +<p> +“All right!” said the man. “He won’t bother you now, Miss. Just take +it easy…” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid—” she gasped. “He’ll kill…” +</p> + +<p> +Just then she saw his car coming down the hill; he shot past the +little shelter, across the tracks and out of sight. +</p> + +<p> +“You young ladies had ought to be more careful who you go out with, +these days,” said the man. He was a solid, burly old fellow, with +kindly eyes, beyond measure reassuring to her. +</p> + +<p> +“But don’t you worry any more,” he continued. “He’s gone and he won’t +come back, neither. He knows you’ve got a witness what could prove in +a court of law how he was chasing you down the hill—” +</p> + +<p> +“I was only afraid—he’d kill himself,” she answered. “He’s such a +reckless—driver.” +</p> + +<p> +The old man obviously did not believe a word of that. He brought her a +glass of water, and stood watching her while she drank it. +</p> + +<p> +“Live near here, Miss?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” she answered. “I… Perhaps I can get a taxi…” +</p> + +<p> +“Ought to be some along in a few minutes,” he said. “Going down to the +station, to meet the up train. Next one I see, I’ll stop it for you, +if it’s got a driver I know.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re awfully kind,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“Pshaw!” said he. +</p> + +<p> +She sat there in the doorway of the little shelter, with tranquil +peace all about her; the railway tracks glinting like silver in the +sunshine; she heard a robin singing nearby. And she held that letter +tight in her hand. Someone in the world had been interested enough to +write to her… There were, kind, ordinary human creatures; there were +birds and sunshine… +</p> + +<p> +“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just read this letter,” she said to the old +man. +</p> + +<p> +This politeness somewhat surprised him. +</p> + +<p> +“Go right ahead!” he said, and stepped outside. +</p> + +<p> +The envelope had no stamp, and it had been torn open; she took the +letter out of it. +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p class="noindent"> +“Dear Miss Leonard: +</p> + +<p> +“<i>I am bringing this along, in case anything prevents me from seeing +you this evening.</i> +</p> + +<p> +“<i>I think the letter I brought you from Mrs. Frick will have explained +me pretty well. I hope you won’t think I am a meddlesome ass. But if +you get this letter, it will mean that I have not been able to see you +this evening, and that will be rather a bad job, because I am going to +try every way I know to see you. There are a lot of things that need +explaining. I don’t want to put them into a letter. I shall try to +give this to Wren, to give to you. When you get it, please try to +trust me. Clear out of that house the first moment you can. Put on +your hat and walk out. Don’t say anything to anyone. If anyone comes +along with you, go back to the house and try again. But get away. Take +the first train back to New York, to Mrs. Frick’s. Things are going to +happen, and you must be out of the way.</i> This is important. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>I hope you will believe that ever since I saw you with those flowers +I have been, and I always will be,</i> +</p> + +<p class="rt1"> +“<i>Faithfully and respectfully your friend,</i><br> +“<span class="sc">James Fennel.</span>” +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +It was as if she heard him speaking, in his blunt and somewhat +masterful way, as if she could see his face, unexpressive, except when +that vivid smile crossed it. He, a professional thief? +</p> + +<p> +“I never really believed it!” she thought. “I knew… ! I knew… !” +</p> + +<p> +She could have wept, with delight, with relief. He was her friend. He +would come back— +</p> + +<p> +“But what happened to him that night?” she thought. And the greatest +fear she had ever known in her life seized her. Why had he not been +able to see her?—“That will be rather a bad job, because I am going +to try every way I know to see you.”—She had gone out, to meet him; +she had waited… What had happened to him? +</p> + +<p> +Now she remembered what Miles had said, his words that hinted at some +desperate remorse. She had not paid much heed to them at the time; she +had thought he referred to his drinking, to Heaven knows what episodes +in his unhappy wasted life. She had not tried at all to account for +his intention to kill himself; it had seemed so in keeping with his +unstable, reckless nature. But now she could believe that there was +something in his heart he could not endure. He had had Fennel’s letter +in his pocket… +</p> + +<p> +“Here’s a cab, Miss,” said the old man. “And a driver I know, and can +vouch for. Nice, steady young man.” +</p> + +<p> +She rose and managed to smile. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve been so nice—” she said. “Some day I’m coming back—to thank +you. Only to-day—I’m—tired.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s right!” he said, seriously. “All upset. Well, you remember if +you want a witness to these goings-on, here’s Joe Archer, that seen it +all.” +</p> + +<p> +She came out of the little shelter and found the taxi waiting. She +glanced at the driver, a squat, swarthy young Italian, then she got +in. +</p> + +<p> +“Where to, lady?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +She looked at him, dazed; she needed time to think. Should she go back +to Mrs. Frick’s at once? Not back to The Châlet. Not there again… +</p> + +<p> +“First I’d like to go somewhere to telephone, please,” she said to the +driver, and as the cab started, she took out her vanity-case, to see +how she looked after all this. Angelina had given her that case. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, if only I could reach her!” she thought. +</p> + +<p> +She had a vision of Angelina arriving at The Châlet, dashing up in a +racing car, or arriving by airplane, sweeping in like a whirlwind, +facing Aunt Emma with her sublime assurance.—“What do you people +think you’re doing? Lord! What an awful old house! We’ll have a doctor +and a nurse for that poor old man. Where’s Fennel? I’m going to look +for him. I want to talk to that detective.” +</p> + +<p> +Angelina wouldn’t care whether or not it was her business to +interfere, or whether anyone wanted her. She would simply take +possession of everything and everyone. +</p> + +<p> +“Child, you’re simply exhausted! Go and lie down this instant, you +poor little angel, and I’ll come up and have tea with you in your +room.” +</p> + +<p> +She had said that so often; she had been, for all her sensational +exploits, so strong, so confident, and, for all her carelessness, so +generous and kind. +</p> + +<p> +But it was not possible to reach her; the itinerary of her honeymoon +was a secret. +</p> + +<p> +“There never seems to be anyone but Mrs. Frick,” thought Di. +</p> + +<p> +The driver stopped at a little stationer’s and she got out to +telephone. It seemed a little impossible, that she could really +communicate freely with the outside world; she half expected that +there would be no answer to her call, or that someone would stop her. +</p> + +<p> +But the usual routine went forward and she actually heard Mrs. Frick’s +voice; not very amiable. +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s Diana Leonard—” +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Leonard!” cried Mrs. Frick. “Merciful Powers! I’ve been so +worried and anxious about you. Especially not hearing a single word +from that Mr. Fennel. Where are you now? Are you coming back +to-night?” +</p> + +<p> +“What about Mr. Fennel?” asked Di. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, he promised to come right straight back here after he’d seen +you, and tell me all about things. And he never did. I rang up the +Ritz, where he’s living, and they said he hadn’t come back. I didn’t +know if I ought to take any steps, but I thought I’d better not. Of +course he has lots of friends. If anything was wrong, <i>they’d</i> know. +But tell me, dearie, when are you coming back here?” +</p> + +<p> +“I—don’t exactly know,” said Di. “But very soon, Mrs. Frick.” +</p> + +<p> +“But are you all right, dearie?” asked Mrs. Frick. “It seems to me +your voice sounds sort of queer.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perfectly all right, thanks.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you get the letter I sent by Mr. Fennel?” +</p> + +<p> +There was a moment’s pause. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, thanks. He gave it to me,” said Di. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish you’d come back!” said Mrs. Frick. “And I wish you’d tell me +whatever has happened to Mr. Fennel.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m—going to try to find out,” said Di. +</p> + +<p> +For she had made up her mind that she must go back to The Châlet at +once. +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch12"> +Chapter Twelve.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">“You Are Like Her”</span> +</h3> + +<p> +She had come to this decision rapidly, but quite deliberately. +</p> + +<p> +“No one there would do me any real harm,” she thought. “They can’t +afford to, because they’re hoping to get Uncle Rufus’s money through +me. Aunt Emma was going to make Uncle Peter apologize. She’ll see that +he doesn’t do anything like that again. And if Miles comes back, +she’ll keep him in order. I’ve got to go back, and find out what’s +happened to Mr. Fennel.” +</p> + +<p> +She was perfectly sure that something had happened to Fennel, and that +Miles was responsible for it; she was profoundly alarmed and troubled, +yet in her heart there was still that unshakable confidence in Fennel. +She could not imagine him defeated by Miles. He might have been +deceived, sent away with some false message from herself; he might +even have been taken by surprise, have been hurt, temporarily put out +of the way. But if he had been deceived, he would soon find it out; if +he had been hurt, he would recover. He would come back; she knew it. +</p> + +<p> +Her chief motive was loyalty. Fennel had come entirely on her account; +any misadventure that had befallen him was due to his wish to help +her. And now she would help him. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t very well go to the police,” she thought. “I haven’t any +evidence that anything’s happened. And Aunt Emma would know how to +make things look all right. She called in that detective herself… I +wish I’d kept that other letter—the one with the money in it. It was +a forgery, of course. Who did it? Miles? Is that what he’s so wretched +about?” +</p> + +<p> +It was so difficult to evaluate Mile’s emotions. He was capable of +being overcome with remorse for something pardonable, and equally +capable of feeling not the least regret for some horrible act. His +rudderless spirit knew no measure, no proportion; he did not know what +he wanted or where he was going. +</p> + +<p> +“If anyone had ever cared for him,” she thought, “had ever taken any +trouble over him, he might have been—a decent man.” +</p> + +<p> +And that, in a way, was her requiem for Miles. She had pitied him and +had done what she could for him, and now she had finished with him. +</p> + +<p> +The sun was beginning to set; another day was ending, and still she +was not free. Going back there again… +</p> + +<p> +“If you’ll drive to the East Hazelwood Station,” she told the +chauffeur, “someone there can tell you how to reach a house called +‘The Châlet.’ ” +</p> + +<p> +It seemed to her a surprisingly long drive. +</p> + +<p> +“But of course Miles came so terribly fast,” she thought. “And perhaps +he came a shorter way, too. Now I must make up my mind what to do.” +</p> + +<p> +She leaned back in the cab and shut her eyes, but, instead of the +clearly defined plan she wanted, trivial and aimless little thoughts +drifted through her mind. +</p> + +<p> +“Paying for this taxi is going to make an awful hole in my ten +dollars,” she thought. “But Mrs. Frick’s turned so amiable… He +remembered that day he saw me on the steps of Angelina’s house… He +must be a friend of hers… He must have plenty of friends. He couldn’t +just disappear… But some people do… I’ve read in the newspapers…” +</p> + +<p> +She opened her eyes and sat up straight. +</p> + +<p> +“I know that he came that night. I must find out why I didn’t see him. +What happened to him? Miles knows. And almost certainly Aunt Emma +knows. But if she won’t tell me, if I can’t find out anything, I shall +have to go to the police.” +</p> + +<p> +She tried to marshal in her mind the facts she had to lay before the +police. That letter that had fallen from Miles’s pocket? That, +combined with the fact that Fennel had disappeared, ought to be +enough. But suppose he hadn’t really disappeared, but had only gone +somewhere about his own affairs? It was possible that Fennel had left +that letter for her, had given it to Wren, and Miles had got hold of +it. That might be his only offense, the purloining of a letter. His +remorse, his wild talk, might so easily be without foundation. Suppose +after all that nothing had happened to Fennel? +</p> + +<p> +But there was that other letter she had had, signed with his name, +enclosing the marked fifty-dollar bill. She was sure that letter was a +forgery, done for the purpose of discrediting Fennel. Perhaps the +whole story of the robbery was sheer fabrication, with Wren and Fennel +the victims. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know!” she cried to herself. “I can’t think it out. There are +so many little things—that don’t seem to fit together… Only there’s +something horribly wrong… And Mr. Fennel came that night, and I didn’t +see him.” +</p> + +<p> +She realized with dismay that she was not thinking clearly. She was +worn out, almost exhausted by her terrible struggle with Miles, coming +close upon the heels of so many other shocking and inexplicable +things. +</p> + +<p> +“If I could wait and rest—before I went back…” she thought. “Maybe +it’s simply idiotic to go back. But it seems to me now the only decent +thing to do. Mr. Fennel came on my account. I ought at least to try to +find out what happened. And now, of course, it’s very different. I +was—almost a prisoner before, but I’ve got out, and I’ll take care +not to be trapped again.” +</p> + +<p> +They were going up the hill now, along the woodland road. The sun was +gone, the sky was drained of color; here among the trees there was a +somber twilight. The Châlet was a house easy to get into, but not so +easy to leave. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll see to that!” she thought, and leaning forward, spoke to the +driver. +</p> + +<p> +“Please wait for me,” she said. “And if I don’t come out in half an +hour, please go to the door and ask for me.” +</p> + +<p> +He turned round to look at her, and in the gathering dusk his swarthy +face had, she thought, a strange, secret look. +</p> + +<p> +“No!” she said to herself. “That’s ridiculous…” And aloud: +“Please—don’t go away without me,” she said. “No matter what anyone +says… Even if someone comes out and pays you and says I’m not coming. +I—I <i>am</i> coming…” She stopped, ashamed and half-frightened by the +tremor in her voice, the unmistakable note of appeal. “You see,” she +said, “I’ve—left my bag there… I—they—they’d like me to stay +longer—but I can’t… So if you’ll please wait…” +</p> + +<p> +“Why don’t yez leave me go and ask for yer bag?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +The kindness in his voice nearly unnerved her. +</p> + +<p> +“Thanks ever so much, but I’ve—got to—go in.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll wait,” he said. “And if they won’t leave yez come out, will I +tell some friends of yours?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes!” she cried. “I’ll give you an address—if you have a pencil.” +</p> + +<p> +He stopped the cab, halfway up the hill and not yet in sight of the +house, and on a bit of paper she wrote Mrs. Frick’s address. +</p> + +<p> +“If you’ll please let her know…” +</p> + +<p> +Putting the paper in his pocket, he turned away again. +</p> + +<p> +“Well…” he said. “Maybe they got a right to keep your bag, but they +got no right to keep <i>you</i>. That’s agin the law.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh—” she began, and stopped. Evidently he thought this was an affair +of unpaid board; better let him go on thinking that. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll wait, aw’ right,” he added. “Don’t you worry!” +</p> + +<p> +But she did worry! As they turned the corner, and she saw the house +again, so desolate, and bleak, such a fear swept over her that for a +moment she was paralyzed. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t!” she said, half aloud. +</p> + +<p> +“What?” asked the driver. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing,” she said, and tried to reason with herself. +</p> + +<p> +There was nothing really to be afraid of; the cab would be waiting for +her and the driver had Mrs. Frick’s address. And even without that no +one would want to hurt her, for only through her could they get Uncle +Rufus’s money. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll tell Aunt Emma the whole thing,” she thought. “How Miles acted +and about Mr. Fennel’s letter. I’ll tell her that if she doesn’t let +me know at once what happened to Mr. Fennel, she needn’t expect me to +help her out with any money ever. I’ve got the upper hand. I <i>must</i> +remember that.” +</p> + +<p> +Light was shining from the windows of the lounge. But all the other +dark rooms… +</p> + +<p> +“I have the upper hand!” she said to herself. “Perhaps I’m the only +person who can find out what happened to Mr. Fennel. Perhaps they’ve +done something—horrible…” +</p> + +<p> +It was very easy to believe that, when she stood again in the shadow +of that house. +</p> + +<p> +“And Uncle Rufus!” she thought, with a shock. “I promised not to leave +him!” +</p> + +<p> +She stopped outside the door, appalled. How was it possible that she +had forgotten that? For a moment, despair seized her. Then she began +to think sanely and lucidly. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll stand by him. I won’t desert him. But I will not—I <i>cannot</i> +live in that house. I must see him and explain it. There must be some +sort of hotel in the village. I’ll stay there, and come to see him +every day until he’s well enough to leave. I’ll beg him to insist upon +having a nurse for the nights. I’ll do it all quite openly. I have the +upper hand. I will not be cowardly. I will not be underhand and +secret. I have the upper hand.” +</p> + +<p> +She glanced back at the cab that stood square and solid in the +driveway, its lights shining out clearly. Then she opened the door and +entered the lounge. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” said a bland voice, and Mr. Purvis rose from his chair. “Miss +Diana… We’ve been waiting for you!” +</p> + +<p> +In her condition of nervous fatigue she was ready to believe even the +respectable Mr. Purvis a sinister figure. +</p> + +<p> +“Waiting for me?” she repeated. +</p> + +<p> +“Sit down!” he said. “Yes… Yes… It is your uncle’s wish that you +should be informed… Yes… Your uncle sent for me again this afternoon, +my dear young lady, and he has at last made his will… He wishes you to +know—‘So that she will stay here with me’—those were his words. He +is leaving you practically his entire estate of seven hundred thousand +dollars.” +</p> + +<p> +His pleased smile died on his lips. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you ill?” he cried. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” she said, faintly. “Only, naturally… I… I want to see Uncle +Rufus, please.” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite natural and proper!” said Mr. Purvis. “Perhaps I was somewhat +too abrupt… And mind you, I don’t by any means intend to suggest that +your uncle’s condition is worse. By no means! In fact—” He smiled +almost archly, “it’s a curious thing, but well attested—that very +often a patient takes a turn for the better after making a will. +There’s no cause for immediate alarm, my dear young lady. Doctor Coat +assures me…” +</p> + +<p> +“May I see him, please?” asked Di. “Uncle Rufus, I mean.” +</p> + +<p> +Because, before anything else, she must see that old man who had, in +spite of his malice and unkindness, trusted her and so greatly +rewarded her; she must assure him that she would return to-morrow +morning; that she would look after him and protect him. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know…” said Purvis. “Your aunt and Doctor Coat are with him +now. They may not think it advisable—” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll just go up and see,” said Di. And all the way up the stairs she +said to herself: “I have the upper hand. I’ll <i>insist</i> upon seeing +him. And I’ll say what I want to say. I’ll see him alone. Aunt Emma +wouldn’t dare refuse, with Doctor Coat there.” +</p> + +<p> +As she reached the top of the stairs, she was startled to hear her +aunt laugh, a low, cheerful chuckle, answered by another laugh, a +man’s. It seemed to her that this sound came from the corridor that +branched off from the main one, and she went very quietly in that +direction. +</p> + +<p> +There they were, Aunt Emma and Doctor Coat; Doctor Coat leaning +against the wall with his hands in his pockets, Aunt Emma standing +facing him, smoking, looking up at him with a glance that was +coquettish and gay. +</p> + +<p> +“And what did you do then, Emma?” Doctor Coat was asking, with evident +admiration. +</p> + +<p> +“I told him that for every remark like that, the price of the article +would increase one hundred dollars,” said she. +</p> + +<p> +Di turned away, astounded by this new aspect of Aunt Emma. +</p> + +<p> +“But now’s my chance!” she thought, hastening to Uncle Rufus’s room. +</p> + +<p> +The door was open, and Uncle Peter was sitting in there, half asleep. +But at the sight of her he came wide awake in an instant. +</p> + +<p> +“Hello!” he said, jauntily. +</p> + +<p> +She looked past him, to the bed where the old man lay. +</p> + +<p> +“Uncle Rufus!” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“Come here!” he answered, in a voice so hoarse and faint she could +scarcely hear it. She went toward the bed, but Uncle Peter sprang up +and barred the way. +</p> + +<p> +“Look here!” said Di. “I won’t have this! Uncle Rufus wants to speak +to me—and if you won’t let him, I’m going to tell Doctor Coat and Mr. +Purvis.” +</p> + +<p> +The room was lighted only by a small lamp with a green shade; outside +that bright circle it was in darkness. Uncle Peter’s face was little +more than a pale blur, the old man on the bed was lost in the shadows. +</p> + +<p> +“Stand out of the way, please!” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“No!” said Uncle Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“And what’s this?” asked Aunt Emma’s voice from the doorway, where she +had appeared, with Doctor Coat. +</p> + +<p> +At the sound of her voice, the old man on the bed half-raised himself. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t go…” he said, in that hoarse, extinguished voice. “They’ll kill +me. Stay…” +</p> + +<p> +He sank back, turned his head, still wearing the grotesque fez, to the +wall, with the covers drawn up to his chin. Diana faced Doctor Coat. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you hear?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Most unfortunate… !” he murmured. +</p> + +<p> +She was indignant at so weak a word. She stepped out into the hall, +where she could speak without Uncle Rufus hearing. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you see—?” she demanded, in a sort of despair. +</p> + +<p> +“He doesn’t ‘see,’ ” Aunt Emma interrupted, and, addressing Doctor +Coat: “I must warn you, Matthew, that Diana takes this all very +seriously. I believe she’s convinced that we’re all engaged in a +conspiracy—to murder Uncle Rufus Leonard.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come, come, Emma!” said Doctor Coat, shocked. “I’m sure she thinks +nothing of the sort.” He glanced at Di, and smiled; no doubt he meant +it for a benign, and reassuring smile, but it was not; it was nervous, +apprehensive. “The important point,” he went on, “is that Rufus +doesn’t believe in this—this conspiracy himself. He’s been expressing +these—unpleasant suspicions for years, yet he never stopped coming +here. And only this afternoon, when I suggested moving him to a +hospital, he refused. That is pretty conclusive proof that this is not +a genuine delusion. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, the most marked characteristic of the genuine delusion, such as +can be observed in the paranoiac, for instance, is not the +irrationality of the fixed idea, but the tenacity with which the +patient clings to it. I emphatically deny that Rufus shows any +symptoms of a genuine delusion. These—suspicions are simple willful +assertions, made with the clear intention of annoying, as opposed to +the perfectly involuntary belief of a paranoiac. I am willing at any +time to testify to the fact that Rufus is of sound mind. A little +crochety, perhaps, but as sane as you or me. He—” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s no use, Matthew!” Aunt Emma interrupted. “I’d like a word with +her, if you’ll excuse me. Come here, please!” +</p> + +<p> +Di followed her into the next room; not until the door was closed +behind them did she realize what room this was. It was almost in +darkness; through the window she could see the pines black as ink +against the pallid sky. +</p> + +<p> +“I should like to prevent you from making any more of a fool of +yourself than is necessary,” said Aunt Emma. “Are you able to realize +that if you persist in taking this notion of your Uncle Rufus’s +seriously you are tending to invalidate his will?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t care!” said Di. “I can’t—I won’t—see him—like this. +He’s—frightened.” +</p> + +<p> +“My God!” said Aunt Emma, with a sigh. “Very well! I’ll admit that +he’s frightened. And that he had a genuine delusion. It’s a +well-defined case. He has the paranoiac delusion of persecution. +Technically, he’s insane. Like your father.” +</p> + +<p> +“My father!” cried Di. +</p> + +<p> +“Like your father,” Aunt Emma repeated. “<i>He</i> believed he was +persecuted. He—” +</p> + +<p> +“He wasn’t insane!” cried Di. “That’s not—” +</p> + +<p> +“The stock is tainted,” Aunt Emma went on, tranquilly. “You must have +observed it. Peter’s a high-grade moron. Rufus is a paranoiac. Miles, +just at present, is a borderline case. But alcoholism will very +shortly send him over the line. A somewhat difficult household to deal +with.” +</p> + +<p> +Di was silent for a moment. +</p> + +<p> +“My father—” she began, in an unsteady, defiant voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Naturally,” Aunt Emma interrupted, “you want to deny that he was +unbalanced. It’s a quite instinctive reaction with you to deny +anything that’s unpleasant to you. It’s time you faced facts with a +little courage. This inclination of yours to build fantasies is +dangerous. It was just that refusal to accept reality that destroyed +your unfortunate mother.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t—<i>talk</i> about her!” said Di. +</p> + +<p> +“I think,” said Aunt Emma, slowly, “that she’d be glad if I were to +tell you now. It’s time… I’ve kept it from you, until now, because you +are so remarkably ill-adapted to hear any unpleasant truths. But now… +Here, in this room…” +</p> + +<p> +In this room? Where her mother’s name was printed on the window-sill… +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t—want to hear…” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“But you’re going to hear,” said Aunt Emma. “It was in this room that +I last saw her alive. She came here, to me, in a lamentable condition. +She had found out for herself what your father was. She realized that +he could never make a living for her, and her own health was too much +impaired for her to contemplate any sort of work. I was fond of Inez, +but I had seen from the beginning that she was pitiably maladjusted. +Like you, she was incapable of facing reality. Like you, she believed +that she ‘needed’ things that do not exist. She demanded a love and +loyalty from other people which is never given. She wanted to be +‘happy.’ You are like her.” +</p> + +<p> +Her voice stopped; the dark room was silent. Then in a moment she went +on: +</p> + +<p> +“She was in despair because she couldn’t ‘do anything’ for you. She +was perfectly convinced that she had been born for the express purpose +of ‘doing’ things for other people. And because her ill-health made +that impossible…” +</p> + +<p> +Her strong fingers closed upon the girl’s arm. +</p> + +<p> +“Come here!” she said, and led her to the window. “She wrote her name, +here, on the sill. It is too dark for you to see it, but her name is +here. You see those three pines, standing together? That is where she +died.” +</p> + +<p> +Diana could only look, with dilated eyes, at those three black trees. +</p> + +<p> +“Here, from this spot where you are standing,” said Aunt Emma, “she +threw herself out of the window. Because she could not face life as it +is.” +</p> + +<p> +Her grasp on the girl’s arm relaxed. +</p> + +<p> +“Now perhaps you understand,” she said, “why I warned you against this +room.” +</p> + +<p> +“No…” said Diana. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re like her,” said Aunt Emma. “Too much—like her.” +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch13"> +Chapter Thirteen.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">A Will Is Made</span> +</h3> + +<p> +Diana remained silent, motionless, infinitely withdrawn from the woman +beside her. A measureless sorrow weighed upon her, something beyond +the natural grief and pity she must feel at hearing the story of her +mother’s death. This was bleak, hopeless woe; it was as if she, too, +had come to the end of all dear and pleasant things: before her lay +the garden, somber, in the dusk; behind her the empty room, haunted by +that poor spirit… +</p> + +<p> +“Am I—like that?” she thought. “Not able to face life as it really +is? … I’ve managed to get on—without very much, but I’ve always +thought there was something better round the next corner… And suppose +there isn’t? Suppose there’s never going to be any more for me—than +this?” +</p> + +<p> +Aunt Emma had said the stock was tainted. Was she, too, tainted with +some fatal instability, some moral weakness that would leave her +always friendless, poor, a failure? She had nothing—and from him who +hath not, even that which he hath should be taken… +</p> + +<p> +All the anxieties, the bewildered distress of her childhood, came back +upon her now; her school-days, when she had been sent to one little +private school after another, always trying to adjust herself, always +aware that disastrous changes might come at any moment, never knowing +that feeling of security and permanence so vital to a child. And as a +young girl, there had been no dances, no pretty clothes, no good +times; she had had to be her father’s “pal,” he had taken her with him +where he wanted to go, had lived as it suited him. +</p> + +<p> +Only those months with Angelina had been happy, in spite of the +strange and varied duties. She had loved Angelina; she had been alive +there, energetic, alert, gaining every day in self-confidence. +</p> + +<p> +But evidently Angelina had not cared at all about her; she had gone +off and forgotten Di. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think anyone could ever care much for me,” she thought. +</p> + +<p> +“Now!” said Aunt Emma’s voice, startling her in her bitter reverie. +“Don’t stay in here any longer, Diana.” +</p> + +<p> +Di did not answer or move. +</p> + +<p> +“Come!” said Aunt Emma. “For a suggestible mind, the scene of a +tragedy is not wholesome. In a room like this. But never mind! Now +that I have explained, I think you’ll keep your ideas about Uncle +Rufus to yourself. He’s not legally competent to make a will—but it +would be extremely difficult to prove that. There would be only your +word against Doctor Coat and Purvis and myself and others. And the +word of a hysterical person isn’t worth much. No… He’s done as he +wanted to do with his money, and it’s to your benefit. You need money +more than an ordinary person would. You’re not capable of earning your +own living. You’re hysterical and unstable, badly educated and +trained.” +</p> + +<p> +Di listened to this without protest. Perhaps it was true… She thought +of her mother, who had stood here, where she herself was standing; her +mother who had found life too hard, and had put an end to it. Perhaps +it had been dark, twilight, as it was now, and when she had died out +there, under the pines, perhaps she had seen a sky like this, soft, +merciful, with one silver star… And then had closed her eyes, and +drifted away into peace… Death was beautiful and blessèd, and life +was so hard… To close her own eyes and die—like her mother… She +raised her eyes to the sky, and sighed… +</p> + +<p> +Then, suddenly and sharply, something awoke in her; something that had +brought her gallantly through all her young life. She straightened her +shoulders, and sighed again, a long sigh, as if she were waking from a +dream. +</p> + +<p> +After all, it didn’t matter whether life were hard or not, whether it +were lonely and anxious. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t have to be happy,” she thought. “I’ve just got to do the best +I can. I’m not down and out yet! I’ll—” +</p> + +<p> +There was a knock at the door. +</p> + +<p> +“Emma!” said Uncle Peter’s voice, apologetically. “There’s a +taxi-driver here, asking for ‘a young lady.’ Shall I pay him—?” +</p> + +<p> +“No!” said Di. “He won’t go, anyhow. I told him to wait.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well!” said Aunt Emma. “Then you’d better go.” +</p> + +<p> +She crossed the room, and opened the door, and Di followed her. +</p> + +<p> +“Please wait a moment, Aunt Emma!” she said. “I want to speak to you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Peter, tell the driver she’ll be down in a few moments,” said Aunt +Emma. “Now!” +</p> + +<p> +The door was open and the dim light in the corridor shone into the +room. She heard Uncle Peter running down the stairs. +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” asked Aunt Emma. +</p> + +<p> +For a moment Di was silent, struggling with a too rapid flow of +thoughts. As if that terrible depression had been actually a dream, +she felt a little dazed. It was difficult to come back; to remember +all at once… +</p> + +<p> +But she knew now that the blackest hour of her life had passed, and +that she had conquered some nameless, formless horror. +</p> + +<p> +“I want to ask you—” she said, “where Mr. Fennel is.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sorry I can’t tell you,” Aunt Emma answered. “But no doubt the +police will find him before very long.” +</p> + +<p> +“No. I don’t believe that,” said Di, briefly. “Something’s happened to +him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is this a presentiment?” inquired Aunt Emma. “People of your type are +very fond of presentiments and strange, occult feelings. Do you ‘just +<i>know</i>’ that something’s happened to Fennel?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s not very occult,” said Di. “I’ve got some pretty definite +information.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then take it to the police,” said Aunt Emma. “You’d better do that, +anyhow. You’ll feel easier. Tell the police that we’ve murdered +Fennel. And Wren, too, isn’t it? And that we are now engaged in +murdering Uncle Rufus. And any others you feel worried about.” +</p> + +<p> +Diana reflected for a moment. +</p> + +<p> +“She let that detective come and search the house. She’s not afraid of +the police. She feels sure that they can’t find out. And what can I +really tell them? There’s no proof of any crime—anything having +happened to Mr. Fennel. Only that letter, and that could be explained. +I’m the only one who can find out. I have the upper hand. This is my +chance. The taxi is waiting outside.” +</p> + +<p> +She chose her words with care. +</p> + +<p> +“Aunt Emma,” she said, “if I’m to have Uncle Rufus’s money, and you +want to share it, I’ll have to know about Mr. Fennel.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve already promised me a share,” said Aunt Emma. “But no doubt +you are always able to find satisfactory justification for breaking +your word.” +</p> + +<p> +Her cool contempt was having its usual effect, sapping the girl’s +self-confidence, making her feel weak, petty, contemptible. +</p> + +<p> +“All right!” she said to herself, “I don’t care! I’m going to see this +through, anyhow.” And aloud: +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll make a bargain with you,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid,” said Aunt Emma, “that making a bargain with you is +rather uncertain.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you <i>could</i> make a bargain?” said Di, quickly. “You <i>do</i> know +what’s happened to him?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s quite intelligent!” said Aunt Emma, in a tone of pleased +surprise. “You must be considerably interested in this man, to wake up +so.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am,” said Di. +</p> + +<p> +“And what bargain do you propose?” +</p> + +<p> +“If you’ll tell me where he is and what happened to him, I’ll sign +some sort of paper, giving you a certain sum.” +</p> + +<p> +“Unfortunately you haven’t a penny.” +</p> + +<p> +“When I get it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sorry,” said Aunt Emma, “but I’m afraid that won’t quite do. A +very short time ago you were moved by an impulse of gratitude to offer +me a share of any money you might get. This gratitude has apparently +evaporated now. You are now, as far as I can see, actuated by an +infatuation for this man you scarcely know. If this infatuation +should—not be requited, you would resent giving me anything. And you +would no doubt find excellent reasons for repudiating this ‘paper’ you +are always speaking of. I suppose that idea comes from your father. +Probably he signed a good many ‘papers’ in his time.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very likely,” said Di. “But I don’t quite see…” She paused a moment, +then she went on, deliberately. “You said you asked me here so that +Uncle Rufus would take a liking to me and leave me his money. But if +you can’t trust my word, and it’s no good signing a paper, how did you +expect to get any of it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Really,” said Aunt Emma, “you have more intelligence than I gave you +credit for.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m just beginning to think…” said Di, half to herself. +</p> + +<p> +It seemed to her of vital importance that she should think, that she +should remain quiet and cool, unmoved by the elder woman’s scorn, +unconfused by the darkness gathering about her. She had no one but +herself to depend upon now. +</p> + +<p> +“I’d like to know,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“I had,” said Aunt Emma, “three well-considered plans for obtaining a +share of that money. One of them has failed. But one of the other two +will succeed.” +</p> + +<p> +“What is it?” +</p> + +<p> +Aunt Emma did not answer, and looking at her, Di saw by the dim light +an expression that horrified her. For those blue eyes were regarding +her with a monstrous sort of pity, as one might look at the last +struggles of a trapped animal. +</p> + +<p> +“What are—your plans?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll leave that for the present,” said Aunt Emma; “and discuss this +bargain of yours. You wish to know what happened to Fennel. And I’m +not at all disposed to tell you. He was a very unwelcome intruder. +What’s more, if I do tell you, I have no sort of guarantee that you +won’t go off and never communicate with me again.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you won’t tell me,” said Di, “I’m sure to do that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps it’s better so,” said Aunt Emma. +</p> + +<p> +Di paid no attention to this fencing. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you want me to agree to?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Whatever you agree to will have to be in public,” said Aunt Emma. +“Purvis is a lawyer—” +</p> + +<p> +“But you don’t want me to go to him and promise to pay you anything?” +</p> + +<p> +“That would be somewhat crude,” said Aunt Emma. “Even Purvis would +find that—peculiar. After all, it’s really your affair, to find some +way of satisfying my not unreasonable demands without arousing +suspicion. I am certainly entitled to some of that money. From any +point of view. I am a nearer relation than you of Rufus Leonard. I +should use the money in an excellent cause. And it is due to me alone +that you are going to get it. I can’t make you give me anything, and, +apparently, the sole claim I have upon you is my knowledge of this +Fennel’s whereabouts. Naturally, I shall not relinquish my one +advantage without excellent security.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you suggest?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s for you to suggest,” said Aunt Emma. “I can think of nothing, +except that you might make a will in my favor—” +</p> + +<p> +“A—will? But—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I see the drawbacks to that perfectly well!” said Aunt Emma, with +a frown. “In the first place, your Uncle Rufus may live for another +five years. And in the second place, there’s nothing to prevent you +from making another will to-morrow. The only value would be, that you +would be making a public declaration of your no doubt excellent +intentions. If you were to declare, in the presence of Purvis and Coat +that gratitude impelled you to assign me a share of your legacy, you’d +hesitate, after that, to refuse me a loan, when you inherit. It’s a +very poor plan—for me. I hope you can think of a better one.” +</p> + +<p> +“I could tell Mr. Purvis that you’d lent money to my parents, and that +I considered it my duty—” +</p> + +<p> +“No, thanks!” said Aunt Emma. “That puts me in a very unpleasant +light.” +</p> + +<p> +Di was silent, thinking this over in her own characteristic way. She +was not cautious, not patient; she wanted to learn about Fennel in a +hurry, and be gone. She was certain now that he had been sent away by +some chicanery. An attempt had been made to discredit him in her eyes, +and probably something had been done to make her seem contemptible to +him. And she wanted to find him, and explain. +</p> + +<p> +A new thought struck her, a thought that frightened her. Was it likely +that Aunt Emma would willingly let her meet Fennel, to compare notes? +He was not likely to let matters rest… No. Aunt Emma must somehow feel +herself quite safe from any future interference on the part of Fennel. +And what could make her feel safe? +</p> + +<p> +“You—<i>promise</i> to tell me where he is?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“If I don’t,” said Aunt Emma, “you can very easily destroy any paper +you’ve signed, if my information doesn’t suit you.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s true,” thought Di. “Suppose I do make a will… She can’t very +well be planning to murder me. In the first place, as she said, Uncle +Rufus is still alive, that Mr. Purvis and Doctor Coat are here, and +the driver’s waiting. Even if she tells me a lie, there’s no harm +done. I’ll get away at once, and find some of his friends. And if +she’s lied, I’ll destroy the will—make another… No… I don’t see what +possible harm it can do, to agree to that now. I want to hear what she +has to say about Mr. Fennel.” +</p> + +<p> +She glanced up. +</p> + +<p> +“All right!” she said. “I’ll make a will. And you promise to tell me, +as soon as I’ve done that?” +</p> + +<p> +“I promise. But it’s going to be very awkward for me. Purvis may +refuse to draw up a will for you. And if he makes any objections, if +he appeals to me, I shall certainly uphold him. I don’t intend to +appear in the light of a blackmailer, I assure you. You’ll have to +make your impulse plausible. And you’ll have to assure him that I know +nothing about it.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right!” said Di, again. +</p> + +<p> +“And even when you’ve done that,” said Aunt Emma, “the will won’t be +worth the paper it’s written on. I’m obliged to trust you to deal +honorably with me. I’m going to give you information that you can use +against me. I admit that there was a certain amount of +misrepresentation involved in getting Fennel away. I can count only +upon whatever sense of honor you have to prevent any further trouble +for me. And also upon your disinclination for a family scandal.” +</p> + +<p> +“Misrepresentation…” What had Fennel been told to make him go away? +</p> + +<p> +“I must know,” she thought; and aloud: “I’ll see Mr. Purvis now—” +</p> + +<p> +“I doubt if you can manage him,” said Aunt Emma. +</p> + +<p> +But Di, for all her honesty, her carelessness, was not without +subtlety. She made up her mind to “manage” Purvis, and to manage +quickly. And she did remarkably well. She found Purvis in the lounge, +reading, and she went up to him with an air of urgency. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Purvis!” she said. “I’ve got to go back to New York at once, and +I don’t want to leave this house until I’ve made a will.” +</p> + +<p> +“A will! But my dear young lady—!” +</p> + +<p> +“Please let me!” she said. “Aunt Emma’s my nearest relation. And she +asked me here when it meant—a lot to me. I’d like to feel that if +anything should happen to me—a train accident, or anything—” +</p> + +<p> +“But my dear young lady, at the present time… Your Uncle Rufus is—is +improving—” +</p> + +<p> +“I know,” she said. “But you never can tell what might happen. And I’d +like to feel, before I go away, that I’d done that.” +</p> + +<p> +He began to argue. But Di maintained her attitude of an illogical and +impulsive young creature, and that seemed to him perfectly natural. +What is more, as the heiress of Rufus Leonard, she had a new +importance to him. +</p> + +<p> +And she was assisted by an interruption. There was a knock at the +door, and when she ran to open it, the taxi-driver spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“Everything aw’ right?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Please keep on waiting!” she said, very low. “Don’t go away, please. +And if I’m not out in half an hour, please knock again and insist on +speaking to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Aw</i>’ right!” said he, in a reassuring whisper, and closing the door +she turned to Purvis. +</p> + +<p> +“My taxi’s waiting!” she said, plaintively. “Please let me just dash +off a will, leaving half the money to Aunt Emma. Even if it seems +silly—I’d <i>like</i> to do it.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Purvis, like almost everyone else, was rendered nervous by the +thought of a taxi-meter steadily ticking up a charge. He urged her to +wait, to come to his office the next day and discuss the matter, but +he was infected now with her sense of haste. +</p> + +<p> +“I will come to your office,” she said. “This is just temporary—just +to make my mind easy before I go. Please help me! That meter must be +running up terribly!” +</p> + +<p> +Very reluctantly he yielded, and took out his fountain pen. +</p> + +<p> +“Just please say that half of anything I get is to go to Aunt Emma—” +</p> + +<p> +“And the rest—?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh… I don’t know… To—Mrs. Frick.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who is Mrs. Frick?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, what does it matter!” +</p> + +<p> +“It does matter,” said Purvis. “You don’t realize what you’re doing in +the least. Who is this Mrs. Frick?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, don’t bother about her. Just say—my heirs and assigns—or +whatever they are.” +</p> + +<p> +He argued again, and she became more and more obstinate. +</p> + +<p> +“Well!” she said, with a sigh. “If you won’t, then I’ll have to find +some sort of lawyer in the village, on my way to the train. I’m sure I +have a legal right to make a will when I want.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” he said, shocked and distressed. “If you insist upon this—this +most irregular and unreasonable proceeding. Your aunt—” +</p> + +<p> +“Please don’t tell her!” said Di. “Now!” +</p> + +<p> +He drew up for her a brief will, leaving half of any estate of which +she might be possessed to her aunt Emma Leonard, and the remainder to +her legal heirs and assigns. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll read it to you—” +</p> + +<p> +“No, thanks, I’m sure it’s all right. I’m in such a hurry—” +</p> + +<p> +“I insist upon your reading it,” he said, sternly. “You cannot sign a +document you have not read.” +</p> + +<p> +So she read it, or pretended to read it. +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” he said. “We must have two witnesses. I’ll get Doctor Coat and +your Uncle Peter. And remember, young lady, you are coming to my +office to-morrow, to discuss the matter.” +</p> + +<p> +As he began to mount the stairs, Di went to the window and looked out, +the taxi stood there, its lights shining on the drive. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank God for that taxi-driver!” she thought. “I’m not—cut off.” +</p> + +<p> +In a few minutes Mr. Purvis descended again, followed by Uncle Peter, +very jaunty, and Doctor Coat. +</p> + +<p> +“State in the presence of these witnesses the nature of the document +you are signing,” said Mr. Purvis, frigidly. +</p> + +<p> +“This is my last will and testament,” said Di. +</p> + +<p> +And as she spoke those words aloud, she began to realize what she was +doing. As she took the pen in her hand, it seemed to her that she was +about to sign her own death-warrant. +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch14"> +Chapter Fourteen.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">Miles Confesses</span> +</h3> + +<p> +Doctor Coat signed, in a neat, small hand, and Uncle Peter added a +scrawling, infantile signature. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you keep it for me, please?” she said to Purvis. “Thank you all +very much… Now, I’ll just run up to say good-bye…” +</p> + +<p> +She ran up the stairs, and found Aunt Emma in the upper corridor. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s done,” she said. “Signed and witnessed. Now please tell me—” +</p> + +<p> +“Coat’s coming up!” said Aunt Emma. “I don’t care to be found talking +alone to you just now. Go down in the kitchen and ask Miles. He’ll +tell you all you want to know.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t want—” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you’ll have to want,” said Aunt Emma, and turning on her heel, +walked into Uncle Rufus’s room just as Doctor Coat’s benevolent and +stupid face appeared at the head of the stairs. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t wait!” thought Di. “I mustn’t be so cowardly about Miles. He +can’t make any trouble here, with Doctor Coat and Mr. Purvis in the +house—and that driver out there. I’ll go and ask him anyhow. And if +he’s—impossible, I’ll insist upon Aunt Emma telling me at once. She +can’t get out of it. I can threaten to tell Mr. Purvis to tear up the +will.” +</p> + +<p> +But she dreaded the thought of seeing Miles again. +</p> + +<p> +“On the borderline,” Aunt Emma had said, and alcoholism would soon +send him across it. Was that true? Her father “technically insane,” +Uncle Rufus a paranoiac, Uncle Peter mentally deficient… all of them… ? +And she herself? +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t think about that now,” she said to herself. +</p> + +<p> +But she had thought of it, and the horrible shadow would not leave +her. She went down the stairs and into the lounge, where Purvis and +Uncle Peter stood talking together; she went past them without a word +and into the dining-room that was in complete darkness. +</p> + +<p> +“My last will and testament…” +</p> + +<p> +“What have I done?” she asked herself, stopping halfway across the +room. “I wish… I hadn’t…” +</p> + +<p> +But even here, through the window, she could see the lights of the +waiting taxi, her link with the world outside. She went on, +resolutely, pushed open the swing-door, went through the pantry and +into the kitchen. +</p> + +<p> +Miles was sitting on the edge of the table, smoking. He glanced at her +as she entered, but he did not speak or move. He was white as chalk, +and on his handsome, wasted face was a queer, blank look. +</p> + +<p> +“Miles!” she said, in as matter-of-fact a way as she could manage. +</p> + +<p> +But he did not answer. +</p> + +<p> +“Miles,” she said again. “Please tell me what happened to Mr. +Fennel—” +</p> + +<p> +He sprang to his feet, stood looking at her with dilated eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Aunt Emma said you’d tell me—” she went on, unsteadily. +</p> + +<p> +Still he did not speak; she looked at him, and was appalled by the +expression on his face. +</p> + +<p> +Then suddenly anger flamed up in her. +</p> + +<p> +“Miles!” she cried. “Stop—staring like that! Miles! Can’t you talk +like a human being… ? I—I’m sick and tired of all this… Where’s Mr. +Fennel?” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s in hell!” shouted Miles. +</p> + +<p> +She caught him by the arm and tried to shake him. +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me!” she said. “I <i>will</i> know!” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll never see <i>him</i> again,” said Miles, with a laugh. +</p> + +<p> +That laugh brought her to her senses. This was not the way to handle +Miles. Her hand dropped from his arm; she drew a long breath and +began, in a friendly, easy tone. +</p> + +<p> +“Please tell me all about it, Miles. Aunt Emma told me to come and ask +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t!” he groaned. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, you can, Miles!” +</p> + +<p> +He flung himself into a chair, and covered his eyes with his arm, a +childish and pitiable gesture. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Di!” he said. “Oh, Di!” +</p> + +<p> +She laid her hand on his shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“Come on, Miles!” she said, encouragingly. +</p> + +<p> +Evidently he was filled with remorse for whatever part he had played +in this affair, and she was sorry for him. But no doubt he was +exaggerating as usual; she would have to sift out the truth from his +words. +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t think—I <i>could</i> do <i>that</i>,” he said, still with his eyes +covered. “I didn’t mean to… But it was because I love you so… She +promised to help me. She said you’d marry me. And you would have loved +me, if he hadn’t come. You liked me at first. If he hadn’t come…” +</p> + +<p> +He let his arm fall, and looked up at her, with a sort of anguished +bewilderment. +</p> + +<p> +“That night when we cooked the dinner together, Di… That was the +happiest hour I ever had in my life… Then when you went upstairs to +dress, she told me she’d heard you promise to meet that fellow at nine +o’clock, in the clearing… She said I could stop it. She told me she’d +keep you in the house as long as possible, and I could meet him. I was +to tell him that you and I were secretly married and ask him to lend +us enough money to get away, and ask him to clear out for a few +days—for your sake—so that no one could question him. She said that +would disgust him with the whole show, and that if he thought <i>you</i> +were mixed up in everything he’d simply drop it—anyhow, until you’d +had a chance to get away… But when she couldn’t keep you in the +house—when you ran out like that, Di, I—couldn’t stand it. To see +you, hell-bent on meeting another man… I went after you. I only meant +to stop you… But I missed you, in the dark. I couldn’t find you… I +went to the clearing, and I saw him standing there… He had heard me +coming… I found I had Uncle Rufus’s loaded stick in my hand. I don’t +remember taking it. I swear I had no idea of—of <i>that</i>—when I left +the house… But when I saw him… Di, I didn’t mean to do that! I swear I +didn’t!” +</p> + +<p> +Her hand had fallen from his shoulder; she was leaning against the +table, looking and looking at him. +</p> + +<p> +“What—was it—that you did?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I only struck once, Di I swear it… ! And then I heard someone coming +down the hillside, and I dragged him back, among the trees. It was +you… ! Oh, God, Di! You called him! You sat down there—and waited for +him—you called him again… And he was lying there, not ten yards from +you… all the time…” +</p> + +<p> +She stood as if frozen with horror. He was still speaking, but she +could not hear. +</p> + +<p> +“Lying there…” she thought. “When I called to him… Dead—<i>murdered</i>…” +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly she caught Miles’s sleeve. +</p> + +<p> +“Miles!” she said. “No… Miles, perhaps it’s not true… Miles, you’re +not—<i>sure</i>… ?” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish to God I wasn’t!” he said. “After you’d gone, I tried… But +he—was gone…” +</p> + +<p> +“Gone?” she echoed, catching at any straw. “You mean disappeared?” +</p> + +<p> +“No!” he said. “Disappeared… ? No. He lay there. I didn’t know what to +do with—it… I thought—I’d go mad… I dragged him along—and pushed +him into the old quarry… And—later… I went back again—and called +him…” His hand covered hers that lay on his sleeve. “That’s why I +wanted to kill myself,” he said. “But now—I don’t care. They’re sure +to find him. I don’t care. I’m ready—to go.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, Miles—” she protested, almost mechanically. +</p> + +<p> +“I am, Di,” he said. “I’ll be glad to finish.” +</p> + +<p> +He rose, stood looking down at the ground, with a look somber and +austere. +</p> + +<p> +“She’s told me, often enough, that I’m not to be trusted. And it’s +true. I’ve never done anything but harm. I never could. I’m ready for +the police, whenever they come…” +</p> + +<p> +“Aunt Emma will help you,” she said, with the same mechanical +kindness. +</p> + +<p> +“She doesn’t know what I’ve done. I’m not going to tell her. She’d get +me out of it. There’d be more lies and lies and lies… And there’s +nothing ahead for me, Di. I’ve been thinking over—everything. My +whole life… I’ve always done what she wanted. She was the only one who +did anything for me. My father never had any money. She sent me to +school and to college. I suppose she was good to me. But she always +told me what a weak, good-for-nothing devil I was… It didn’t help +much… But she was right… Di, there in the wood, something—happened to +me—something sprang up inside me… I’m not fit to live.” +</p> + +<p> +There was no instinct for revenge in the girl, no impulse to +retaliate. The death of this wasted, broken boy could in no way +compensate for the life he had taken; it could give her no possible +satisfaction to see him punished. But she could not pity him. Not now. +She was thinking of Fennel. +</p> + +<p> +It seemed to her the greatest misfortune possible that she was never +to know him better, never to see him again. It seemed to her as if the +vital, the significant part of her own life had ended with him. +</p> + +<p> +“He came to meet me,” she thought. “If it hadn’t been for me, he would +be alive now.” +</p> + +<p> +Miles was still talking, but she did not listen. Nothing mattered at +all now; there was no object, no motive left. She could not care what +she did, or what happened to her. She wanted to get away, alone and +think. +</p> + +<p> +“Well… Good-by, Miles!” she said, with a polite little smile. +</p> + +<p> +She was not even aware that she had interrupted him in the middle of a +speech. +</p> + +<p> +“Di…” he cried. “Where are you going?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m just going back to New York, Miles. I’m—tired.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re going to <i>leave</i> me, Di?” +</p> + +<p> +“Miles,” she said, with a sort of despair. “I’ve got to go. I—can’t +stand any more.” As she turned away, the swing-door was pushed open, +and Mr. Purvis entered. +</p> + +<p> +“This taxi-driver insists upon speaking to you,” he said, severely. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll come—” she answered, and followed him into the lounge, where +she found the driver standing with his back to the door. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m coming,” she told him, with that same polite little smile, and +went toward the door. +</p> + +<p> +“But—your bag?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t care. I’ll send for it later,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear young lady!” protested Purvis. “Surely you’re going to say +good-by to your uncle?” +</p> + +<p> +Again she had forgotten Uncle Rufus. She was very reluctant to leave +him like this, yet it seemed to her certain that if she went up those +stairs, she would not easily come down again. She had her chance now +to get away and she must take it. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m coming back very soon,” she said, and, indifferent to Purvis’s +shocked face, she followed the driver out of that accursed house. The +Spring night was cool and fresh, she drew a deep breath. +</p> + +<p> +“When I’ve had time to think,” she said to herself, “I’ll find some +way to get him away from there. But I can’t think just now.” +</p> + +<p> +The driver opened the door of the cab; she had her foot on the step, +when a window on the floor above was opened and Doctor Coat’s voice +called, in a tone of severe indignation: +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Diana! One moment, if you please! Your uncle wishes to speak to +you for a moment!” +</p> + +<p> +She began to cry. Fatigued and miserable tears, like a child. +</p> + +<p> +“I—can’t!” she called back. +</p> + +<p> +But Doctor Coats had closed the window and retired, and she knew she +had to go. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, shall I keep on waiting?” asked the driver. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” she said, and once more entered that house. After all, Doctor +Coat was upstairs, Mr. Purvis was in the lounge, the driver was +waiting. Nothing could happen to her. And in any case, she could not +refuse to hear what the old man had to say. +</p> + +<p> +Once more she mounted those stairs to the dimly-lit corridor above, +and went to Uncle Rufus’s room. +</p> + +<p> +But Doctor Coat was not there; the room was empty except for the old +man lying on the bed with his face to the wall in the almost dark +room. She went over to the bed. +</p> + +<p> +“Uncle Rufus!” she said, softly. +</p> + +<p> +He turned his head; she had a glimpse of something in his eyes that +made her cry out. Then a hand pressed over her mouth, her wrists were +caught behind her back. She struggled in vain, her wrists were tied, +and her ankles; the hand over her mouth was supplanted in a flash by a +handkerchief; she was jerked backward, someone lifted her feet, +someone else her head. +</p> + +<p> +It was Aunt Emma who held her bound ankles. She looked straight into +those blue eyes. Then she was carried into the next room, laid on the +bed; she saw Aunt Emma and Uncle Peter go out; she heard the key turn +in the lock. +</p> + +<p> +“The driver won’t go away,” she thought. “I must keep my head. I +musn’t…” +</p> + +<p> +She felt the world slipping away from her, there was a roaring in her +head, a swirling blackness before her eyes. It seemed to her that the +handkerchief over her mouth was smothering her; she tried to raise her +bound hands, and fainted. +</p> + +<p class="spacer"> +* * * +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Frick… Someone was speaking of Mrs. Frick. She tried to call out, +and realized that she was gagged. It was Aunt Emma speaking in the +corridor outside. +</p> + +<p> +“No. I don’t know who this Mrs. Frick is. But if—she’s a friend of +the poor child’s…” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then…” said Mr. Purvis’s voice. “I’d better tell that +chauffeur, eh? Tell him to communicate with this Mrs. Frick? +Apparently she gave him the address.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Aunt Emma, with a sigh. “He’d better advise Mrs. Frick to +come out here to-morrow and see the poor child. It’s a little beyond +me. I’ve knocked and knocked on her door, but she refuses to answer.” +</p> + +<p> +Doctor Coat’s voice intervened. +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t think, Emma… ? We ought to—er—force an entrance?” +</p> + +<p> +“No…” said Aunt Emma, with hesitation. “I’m afraid that would make her +worse… An hysterical condition like hers is only intensified by +attention. It seems to me, Matthew, that if she’s let alone, she’ll +come to her senses more quickly. But if you advise—” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he said. “No, I agree with you, Emma. No… Most unfortunate…” +</p> + +<p> +“I noticed,” said Purvis’s voice, “that she was distraught. As to that +fantastic idea of making a will…” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sorry you humored her,” said Aunt Emma gravely. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Doctor Coat, in the same grave tone. “A mistake, Purvis. +She has this notion that she’s responsible for her uncle’s illness… Of +course, in a way, she <i>is</i>. If she hadn’t run off like that to meet +this man…” +</p> + +<p> +“Fortunately,” said Aunt Emma, “Rufus seems to be doing very well. But +it’s quite possible, of course, that he may take a turn for the worse. +And if he should, I’m afraid it would completely unbalance her… She’d +believe she had practically killed him. I can only hope that this Mrs. +Frick will take her away.” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t consider her… er—?” said Doctor Coat. +</p> + +<p> +“Insane?” said Aunt Emma. “Not at all. She is uneducated, +impressionable, childish. But no more insane than nine people out of +ten. Her father encouraged her to believe in her own importance. She’s +capable of the most irrational actions, due to her faulty training and +her lack of reasoning ability… If I had time and opportunity, I +believe I could do a good deal with her. She’s attracted to me—as +you’ve noticed. But I have my hands full, just now. I shall be glad if +this friend, this Mrs. Frick—will come and take her away to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well!” said Purvis. “We’d better be going now, Emma. You’ll let us +know, of course, if poor Rufus is worse… ? I’ll explain to the driver +then, that he’s to notify Mrs. Frick, as she told him to do… Very +unfortunate.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” Aunt Emma agreed. “But to-morrow morning when she finds her +uncle improved, she may be more reasonable. Good-night, Matthew! +Good-night, Sam!” +</p> + +<p> +In desperation, in a passion of helpless anger, Di had struggled to +call out, to make any sort of sound that would attract their +attention. And, as she heard their answered “Good-night, Emma!” she +deliberately rolled off the bed on to the floor, with a thud that made +her dizzy. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s that?” asked Purvis. +</p> + +<p> +“The children,” said Aunt Emma. “They’re in that room.” +</p> + +<p> +The faint squeaking of someone’s shoes died away. For a few minutes +there was absolute silence. Then Di heard voices below, in the +driveway; the engine started, the door of the cab slammed, the tires +crunched over the gravel. They were gone. +</p> + +<p> +She had thought that nothing mattered, that she did not care what +happened. But it was not so. Every valiant and healthy impulse of her +soul rose in revolt against this ignominy, this defeat. She lay still, +gathering her strength. +</p> + +<p> +“Everything’s come out just as she wanted it,” she thought. “I’ve made +my will. I’ve played into her hands perfectly… Now she thinks she’ll +get rid of me. She has some plan all made, of course… Well, it won’t +succeed! I’ll do something. I’ll find some way…” +</p> + +<p> +She had read stories and seen pictures of people who escaped from +bonds like hers, who freed themselves from more urgent dangers than +this. And she tried; she tried to narrow one hand so that it would +slip out of the bandage that held her wrists; tried to move her +ankles. But she had never realized before how it hurt to have one’s +hands tied behind the back, or the pain of a gag. And worse than +anything were the tides of panic fear that threatened her again and +again, in this utter helplessness. She could not make a sound; she +could not even sit up; her struggles had no other effect than to leave +her panting, desperate, with a cold sweat on her forehead. She lay +quiet again, in the dark room. +</p> + +<p> +And then an appalling thought struck her. +</p> + +<p> +If Aunt Emma were to profit by that will, not only must she herself +die, but Uncle Rufus must die first. That will had condemned him to +death, as surely as if she had sent a bullet through his head; perhaps +even at this moment— +</p> + +<p> +She remembered the utter terror she had seen in his eyes. First +Fennel, and then this forlorn and helpless old man, both to die +because she had made fatal errors… +</p> + +<p> +She strained her ears, to catch any sound from that next room, and +once more that panic desperation assailed her; she tugged wildly at +her bonds, made strange stifled sounds that frightened her. +</p> + +<p> +She did not know whether hours or minutes went by. There were periods +when she was scarcely conscious, and other times when she reflected, +with a cool, impersonal lucidity. +</p> + +<p> +“If Aunt Emma’s going to let Mrs. Frick come out here to-morrow, that +means that she’ll be ready for her. She couldn’t possibly afford to +let me talk to Mrs. Frick. She can’t afford to let me go—after this. +She doesn’t mean to let me go… There’s no one to help me. She can make +Miles think and act as she pleases. Mr. Fennel’s—gone… Wren’s gone. +Mr. Purvis and Doctor Coat will believe what she tells them. The +taxi-driver’s doing just what I told him to do—notifying Mrs. Frick. +I’ve got to help myself.” +</p> + +<p> +But how? +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” she said to herself. “But I won’t give up. I shan’t +struggle any more. I’ll save my strength. I’ll try not to think of +what’s happened…” +</p> + +<p> +She made a gallant effort to remember poems she had learnt in school, +to fill her mind with fine and beautiful thoughts. But while she +repeated lines to herself, horrible images came into her mind: Uncle +Rufus in his terror, Fennel at the bottom of that old quarry. Fennel, +above all. She could see him so clearly, could recall the tones of his +voice, his vivid smile. +</p> + +<p> +The door opened, and a sturdy white figure stood before her, outlined +against the dim light in the hall. She paused a moment, and then +entering the room, screwed a bulb into the electric light socket and +turned on the switch, closed and locked the door, and kneeling beside +the girl, untied her hands. +</p> + +<p> +Di gave a smothered scream of pain as her arms dropped to her sides +and the blood began to circulate. Aunt Emma untied the twisted +handkerchief that had cut so cruelly into the corners of her mouth, +and that done, sat down on the edge of the bed. +</p> + +<p> +“My God!” she said, with a sigh. +</p> + +<p> +Her face looked drawn with weariness, its fresh color vanished; she +sat staring at the ground. +</p> + +<p> +“Miles has told me,” she said. “What folly! What criminal folly! All +my plans ruined…” +</p> + +<p> +Di sat down in a chair, and tried with numb, clumsy fingers to untie +her ankles. +</p> + +<p> +“Everything ruined… !” Aunt Emma went on. “And I’m dragged, against my +will, into a dangerous and repugnant course… I never forsaw this…” She +sighed again. “It’s too late now,” she said. “I’m sorry.” +</p> + +<p> +“Uncle Rufus—?” asked Di, with dry, stiff lips. +</p> + +<p> +“He doesn’t really matter,” said Aunt Emma. “It’s you I’m thinking of. +It’s you I’m sorry for.” +</p> + +<p> +Her ankles freed, Di looked up, into that tired, middle-aged face, +framed in gray hair. This could not be a criminal, a monster of +duplicity and evil… +</p> + +<p> +“Then—if you’re sorry—” she began. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve never disliked you,” Aunt Emma went on, indifferent to her +words. “I hoped at first that you’d marry Miles. That was my first +plan. That would have kept the money in my control. And it would have +been a very good thing for him. But that failed. And now that you know +what he’s done… That’s the end, of course.” +</p> + +<p> +“What—do you mean?” asked Di. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, that you can’t live,” said Aunt Emma, sighing again. “And I’m +sorry.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean,” asked Di, “that you’re going to try to murder me?” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s nothing else I can do,” said Aunt Emma. +</p> + +<p> +They both spoke in ordinary, normal tones, sitting in that commonplace +hotel bedroom, filled with the garish light of the unshaded bulb. +</p> + +<p> +“You can’t expect not to be found out,” said Di. “Mrs. Frick will make +inquiries. Even Doctor Coat and Mr. Purvis will ask questions.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think I’ve planned it pretty well,” said Aunt Emma. “But I didn’t +come here out of mere wanton cruelty—to gloat over you, and so on. +I’m really very sorry. Only, it’s a question of my safety, the +opportunity to go on with my work, against your life; and naturally… +The idea of killing you is horrible to me. And no doubt to you, also,” +she added, politely. “I thought—I hope you’ll take the way I shall +suggest. It is as your mother did. It will look quite natural to +outsiders. Coat and Purvis believe that you were filled with remorse +for your uncle’s condition. They’ll see that when you heard of his +death—” +</p> + +<p> +“His death… ?” +</p> + +<p> +“You committed suicide,” Aunt Emma went on. “I give you my word to +make it as easy as possible for you. The ground out there slopes down +pretty sharply. The chances are that it will be a fatal fall. But if +it isn’t, if you’re injured and in pain, I’ll attend to you +immediately. I’ll see that you don’t suffer at all.” +</p> + +<p> +“And if I don’t do that!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you’ll have to go out of that window,” said Aunt Emma. “If you +won’t do it voluntarily there’ll have to be a very unpleasant +struggle.” She rose. “Think it over!” she said. “Think of your mother +in this room. She found that life wasn’t worth living. And it isn’t +for you either. You’re ineffectual, incompetent. You’re of no value to +anyone. There’s nothing ahead of you but a lifetime of poorly paid +work.” +</p> + +<p> +She unscrewed the bulb and put it in her pocket. Di made a rush for +the door, but it shut in her face, and the key turned outside. +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch15"> +Chapter Fifteen.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">A White Figure</span> +</h3> + +<p> +She was free to move about now; to call for help if she wished; she +was left quite undisturbed to make what plans she could for her +escape. +</p> + +<p> +And she could make none. It occurred to her to knock on the wall of +Uncle Rufus’s room, but she decided against it. It would either +frighten the old man still more, or wake in him hopes that she saw no +way to realize. Or perhaps he could no longer hear anything… +</p> + +<p> +She would have done anything possible to help him, but she could think +of nothing. There had been, in that talk with her aunt, something that +robbed her of the last hope. Her death had been arranged in so cool +and matter-of-fact a way; she herself was so utterly negligible; there +was nothing in her aunt to which she could appeal. +</p> + +<p> +If this were to be her last hour, she meant it to be a good one, +undaunted by fear and weakness. She faced her danger with courage and +dignity. She thought of all the happy moments she had had, of all the +people who had been kind to her, with a regret that was almost +impersonal. It seemed to her that the past was already immeasurably +remote. She thought, above all, of Fennel. +</p> + +<p> +Then her mind turned to her childhood, and she tried to remember her +mother. Here, in this room, her mother had battled with despair and +anguish, and had lost. The room seemed filled with that tragic +presence. In the darkness, the daughter tried to recapture some +childish memory of that face, that voice; she wanted to feel near to +her mother. She wanted to understand how her mother could, of her own +free will, have left her child. +</p> + +<p> +Was it because, after all, life was not worth living? +</p> + +<p> +“If she could come back, just for a moment,” she thought. “If she +could tell me why she wanted to die—and what she found—on the other +side… How could she bear to leave me?” +</p> + +<p> +Aunt Emma had said that some strange and disturbing thing lingered +here… If only she could pierce the veil, could come closer to that +presence… +</p> + +<p> +“Mother…” she said, half-aloud. +</p> + +<p> +She had no one else to love. It seemed to her that if her mother would +draw near to her, and she could go—with her… It would be good to go… +</p> + +<p> +Why not? Why wait for a horrible and futile struggle? Did not the very +walls of this room whisper to her—“Life is cruel, and death is +peace”—Why not go to her mother… ? +</p> + +<p> +She rose, and crossed the room to the open window. Here, on this very +spot, her mother had last stood… Out there— +</p> + +<p> +An awful fear choked her; her heart seemed to stop. For there, at the +foot of the dark pines, lay a white figure. +</p> + +<p> +“Mother!” she said, inaudibly. +</p> + +<p> +Her mother had come back, to show her the way. One instant, and she +could lie there too— +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Leonard!” said a voice behind her. +</p> + +<p> +She turned, to see a figure standing there in the dark. Another ghost… +She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came. +</p> + +<p> +“Steady!” said the voice. “Steady, dear girl!” +</p> + +<p> +His arm was about her shoulders, and she clutched his coat +frantically. +</p> + +<p> +“How can you come!” she whispered. “You were dead, too.” +</p> + +<p> +“Never was less so,” he answered. “But come now. Let’s get away.” +</p> + +<p> +“How—could you come?” +</p> + +<p> +“I found the kitchen door open, and I saw the back stairs, and came up +them. I didn’t know where you’d be, or whether I’d be—welcome. But I +saw this door locked, with the key outside. Didn’t want to knock, you +see, so I walked in.” +</p> + +<p> +“He said—he killed you.” +</p> + +<p> +“His mistake, whoever he was. I was knocked out for a while. Then I +found myself lying in a quarry, and I got up and came out. I went to a +doctor—but I only told him I’d been in an accident. I haven’t told +the police or anyone. I wanted to see you first. I’d have come before, +but—I was a little—bothered by that whack I got. Now let’s clear +out.” +</p> + +<p> +“No! We can’t leave Uncle Rufus without—” +</p> + +<p> +“Uncle Rufus!” he repeated. “But look here! You needn’t worry about +<i>him</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“I do! You don’t know—” +</p> + +<p> +“I know one thing,” he said. “The poor old fellow was dead when we +carried him in—” +</p> + +<p> +“No! He’s—there—in the next room…” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s dead,” said Fennel. “I’m sorry if I’m—blunt, but—” +</p> + +<p> +“Come and see!” she cried. “If it’s not too late.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wait a minute! I—you see, I don’t exactly understand what’s going on +here. And I’m sure you don’t. That’s why I didn’t call in any outside +help. I wanted to know first how much you’re—involved in this.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know exactly what you mean.” +</p> + +<p> +“I mean,” he said, “have you promised to conceal anything—given any +sort of help—done anything that could get you in trouble with the +law?” +</p> + +<p> +“I—don’t know,” she said, doubtfully. “I don’t think I have.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good!” he said, “Then we don’t care how much of a row we raise, do +we?” +</p> + +<p> +“But if I had—?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Then I’d have had to get you away quietly.” +</p> + +<p> +“But did you think I might have done something—wrong?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he said, “Nothing wrong, and nothing silly. But you might have +made a mistake. And there’s something going on here. When we carried +the poor old fellow in, I saw that he was dead. But your aunt behaved +as if he were alive. That’s why I wanted to see you that evening. I +wanted to tell you, and get you out of the way before the big break. +Now it’s too late. Now you’ll have to be mixed up in it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I did do one thing. I made a will. You see, Uncle Rufus had left his +money to me, and I made a will leaving half of it to Aunt Emma.” +</p> + +<p> +“How did she work that?” +</p> + +<p> +Di hesitated a moment. +</p> + +<p> +“I wanted to find out what had happened to you. We made a bargain—” +</p> + +<p> +“I see!” he said, and was silent for a moment. Then he took his arm +from about her shoulders and moved away a little. +</p> + +<p> +Everything he did was right, every action, every word of his was +perfectly clear to her; she knew how he felt about things; she knew +that he understood her. His quiet acceptance of the situation had +steadied her, made her feel resolute and safe. +</p> + +<p> +“The trouble is,” he said, “that there are three men here, and my +wrist’s broken—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” she cried. +</p> + +<p> +“It’ll mend. But we’ll have to manage carefully. Somehow we ought to +get a look at the man in the next room. I want you to be able to swear +that he’s not your uncle… I’ll just take a cautious survey.” +</p> + +<p> +He went over to the door, but he did not open it. She came to his +side. +</p> + +<p> +“I <i>was</i> a fool!” he said. “When I unlocked the door, I left the key +there. And now we’re locked in.” +</p> + +<p> +For a moment they were silent. +</p> + +<p> +“What about the window?” he said. “You were looking out when I came +in—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, it was horrible!” she cried. “I thought I saw something… I was +nervous…” +</p> + +<p> +They went together to the window—and it was still there, that white +figure. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you—see it?” she whispered. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought—it was my mother. She—died like that. She—fell from this +very window…” +</p> + +<p> +He reached for her hand and held it. +</p> + +<p> +“No way to get out of here,” he said. “Can you shoot?” +</p> + +<p> +“Shoot?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have an automatic, but I can’t do much with my left hand.” +</p> + +<p> +“I never even saw one, except in the movies,” she said. “And I’m +afraid—I <i>couldn’t</i> shoot anyone—even if I knew how.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course you couldn’t,” he said. “I was only thinking of shooting +the lock, so that we could get out.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll try it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid it would—” +</p> + +<p> +Something fell past them, something like a great white bird and struck +the ground with a terrible thud, and did not move. +</p> + +<p> +And from the next room came a scream. +</p> + +<p> +“My child! You’ve killed my child… ! Let me <i>go</i>… ! My child…” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s Wren!” cried Di. +</p> + +<p> +“Stand here!” said Fennel. “You can see the white doorknob. Stand +close—there. Aim just below the knob. Pull the trigger.” +</p> + +<p> +The noise dazed her. And in the next room that wild voice was still +shouting; some article of furniture was overturned with a crash. +</p> + +<p> +“Try again!” said Fennel’s quiet voice beside her. “Not so high.” +</p> + +<p> +Again a stab of flame and the crash of the shot, and the splintering +of wood. +</p> + +<p> +“Too low!” said Fennel. “Now! This time you’ll do it.” +</p> + +<p> +She aimed with desperate care, tried to steady her shaking hand. Her +finger was on the trigger, when there came a yell from the next room. +</p> + +<p> +“Help! Help! Murder!” +</p> + +<p> +The shot went wild. +</p> + +<p> +“Last bullet,” said Fennel. “Never mind, dear. You’ve splintered the +wood. I’ll see if I can kick through that panel.” +</p> + +<p> +“Help!” yelled that voice. +</p> + +<p> +“We’re coming, Wren!” she called, with all her strength. +</p> + +<p> +Fennel gave the door a well-directed kick; a second. +</p> + +<p> +Then another shot sounded, there was a cracking, tearing sound, and +Fennel collapsed on the floor. +</p> + +<p> +“What happened?” she cried. “Oh, what’s the <i>matter</i>?” +</p> + +<p> +“Stand away from that door!” he shouted. +</p> + +<p> +But she was on her knees beside him. She spoke to him, but he did not +answer. All noise had ceased in the next room, all noise everywhere +had ceased; there was a silence that seemed to ring in her ears. +</p> + +<p> +“James!” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes?” he answered, in his ordinary, composed voice. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s happened to you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I got a bullet in the leg,” he said. “Through the door.” +</p> + +<p> +She was passionately determined to be as quiet, as cool as he; she +<i>must not</i> disappoint him. +</p> + +<p> +“What can I do for you?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +For answer he laid his head back against her shoulder, and she began +to stroke his forehead. +</p> + +<p> +Outside the pines stirred in the breeze, and far away a dog barked and +a motor horn sounded. +</p> + +<p> +“I must get him to a doctor,” she thought. +</p> + +<p> +They were locked in this room. And God knows who or what was in the +corridor outside. Even if she could get out, how was she to leave him +alone in this horrible house while she went for help? He might be +bleeding to death, dying here, now, with his head against her +shoulder. No one knew they were here. No one would come. +</p> + +<p> +“James,” she said, “can you move?” +</p> + +<p> +“I—can,” he answered, “but—I don’t care much about moving—just +now…” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll bring the chair for you to lean against,” she said. “I want to +look around.” +</p> + +<p> +She pushed the chair so that he was propped up against it, and then +she stood behind, in the dark, and tried to think. Other people had +escaped from situations like this… She could not make a rope of +sheets, to lower herself from the window, for there was only a +mattress on the bed. +</p> + +<p> +“If I threw out the mattress,” she thought, “and then jumped… If I +missed it, if I hurt myself, he’d be worse off than ever. Perhaps I +can kick the door panel in…” +</p> + +<p> +She had an unconquerable aversion to making any more noise. But it +must be tried. She had started forward, when a sound outside made her +jump. Was it possible… ? She went to the window; her glance fell +indifferently upon the two white figures that lay there; she strained +her ears to catch that sound again. +</p> + +<p> +No doubt about it; a car was coming up the hill. +</p> + +<p> +“This way, please!” she called. “<i>Please</i> come here! Please come here! +This way! I need help! Please—!” +</p> + +<p> +Her light young voice seemed to float off on the breeze; there was no +answer. Now she could see the glare of the headlights as the car +turned the corner. +</p> + +<p> +“Please come here!” she cried, desperately. “This way!” +</p> + +<p> +“My darling child!” called back a strong, beautiful voice. “What <i>are</i> +you doing?” +</p> + +<p> +“Angelina!” she cried. “Don’t go away!” +</p> + +<p> +The car had stopped and Angelina sprang out, and ran along the path. +She stopped suddenly, and bent over the white figure lying there. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s this?” she cried. +</p> + +<p> +“Angelina! Get in somehow—” +</p> + +<p> +A man had got out of the car, and stood beside Angelina, looking up at +the window. +</p> + +<p> +“Come in!” cried Di, in a fury of impatience. “There’s someone hurt +here. I’m locked in. Hurry up!” +</p> + +<p> +They both disappeared round the corner of the house, and for a long +time she heard nothing. +</p> + +<p> +“James!” she said. “Could anything happen to them… ?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing can happen to Angelina,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Then she heard voices outside, Angelina’s voice. The key turned in the +lock, the door was flung open, the light of an electric torch shone in +her face. +</p> + +<p> +“James is hurt,” she said, in a quiet, dignified voice. +</p> + +<p> +And that was the end of her strength. +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch16"> +Chapter Sixteen.<br> +<span class="chap_sub">“It’s Over”</span> +</h3> + +<p> +She opened her eyes to look into the face of Doctor Coat, who was +bending over her. She stared up at him in wonder; he gazed back at her +with an expression so unutterably woebegone that her heart sank. +</p> + +<p> +“James… ?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“The young man? Doing very nicely,” he answered. “And how are <i>you</i> +feeling now?” +</p> + +<p> +She forgot to answer him. She was looking about the shabby little +old-fashioned room where she lay on a sofa; the chairs ranged against +the walls, the ancient magazines upon the center table, evidently +Doctor Coat’s waiting-room. Then at last she was really out of that +house… +</p> + +<p> +“What happened?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +But Doctor Coat turned away his head. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, please tell me!” she cried, alarmed, and, as he turned back to +her, she saw tears in his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“I have known Emma since she was a child,” he said. “I can scarcely +grasp this… I… find this… very hard… to credit…” +</p> + +<p> +She was sorry for him, but, in her anxiety, she could not spare him. +</p> + +<p> +“Please tell me about Wren!” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, my dear Miss Diana!” he said, with a pitiable attempt at +professional cheerfulness, “put off your questions until you’ve had a +good rest. To-morrow—” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t wait—a minute! It’ll make me much worse, not to know. Is +Wren—?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s horrible!” he cried. “Unbelievable! A holocaust…” +</p> + +<p> +He began to pace up and down his shabby, brightly-lit little room, +intolerably stirred, filled with bewilderment and grief. +</p> + +<p> +“Three dead!” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Who? Oh, if you’d just please tell me! Can’t you see… ?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I can,” he said. “Only, it’s so difficult… I haven’t quite +grasped it yet… They sent a chauffeur for me, and I went… I hadn’t +been warned in any way. I thought of course it was Emma who had sent +for me… I went to Rufus’s room—and I found Wren there, dying from the +effect of a murderous assault made upon him; he said by Peter Leonard… +By Peter Leonard… Even then I didn’t understand. I looked about the +room for Emma and there was no one present but this chauffeur in +uniform. He heard Wren’s last statement… +</p> + +<p> +“No one will ever believe us—Purvis and me. In court—we shall +appear—either fools—or knaves… But it isn’t hard to deceive people +who are utterly unsuspicious. No doubt I am very much to blame. I +never examined the patient. I saw him only in a darkened room, heavily +muffled. But he had always had that peculiar habit of muffling +himself. If there was anything strange about his voice or manner, I +attributed it to his illness… I—I <i>couldn’t</i> have suspected that +Rufus was dead, buried in the cellar, with no more ceremony than a +dog, and that the man I had seen in his place was Wren. It’s the sort +of thing that—doesn’t occur to anyone… He had had similar attacks and +Emma understood the treatment of them… +</p> + +<p> +“When Emma told me he wanted to make a will in your favor, I was +pleased. I was always fond of your mother—” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you know how she died?” the girl interrupted. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, yes, my dear. Typhoid.” +</p> + +<p> +“What makes you think that?” +</p> + +<p> +He looked at her in surprise. +</p> + +<p> +“I saw her the week before—the end. She was in the hospital then, and +on the road to recovery, we all believed. Then she had a +relapse—Don’t cry! Don’t cry, my dear!” +</p> + +<p> +He drew a chair up beside the sofa, and sitting down, patted her +shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t cry!” he said. “It was a very happy end. She always had the +greatest confidence in your father. She was sure he was going to make +a fortune for you. A happy life, my dear, and a happy death.” +</p> + +<p> +She could not stop weeping; tears were streaming down her face; she +groped for a handkerchief, and he gave her one of his own. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re <i>sure</i>?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Absolutely! Come, come!” +</p> + +<p> +“Just—don’t pay any attention—to this,” she said. “Go on telling +me…” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve sent for Purvis,” he went on. “It will be a terrible blow for +him… Rufus, or the man we thought was Rufus, was apparently too weak +to talk. Purvis drew up the will in the form Emma said he wanted. He +had not enough strength to sign his name, but he made his mark which +we both witnessed… How could we suspect anything wrong? Emma did not +benefit in any way; she was not even mentioned in the will. And later +on, when you insisted upon making a will in her favor, we saw nothing +amiss. We thought you were grateful to her, and perhaps a +little—overwrought… Why did you make that will?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll tell you later. Please go on!” +</p> + +<p> +“Wren was able to tell us only the main facts of this—this imposture. +Emma had forced him into it by threatening to send his child to an +institution. He said he agreed… He had rebelled against helping to +bury poor Rufus, and in the end had had a physical encounter with +Peter in which Peter had badly wounded his foot with a spade. I saw +that wound… Emma told him that if he would impersonate Rufus for a few +days, until the will was made, he would then pretend to recover and +could start to return to Rufus’s place in New York, and could +disappear on the way. He believed her—then, and he had been promised +a large reward. He had planned to take his child to some doctor he had +heard of in Switzerland. But he was well aware that his life was in +danger. He felt that as long as you were in the house, they would not +dare to make away with him. He had the highest opinion of your courage +and intelligence—the greatest faith in your kindness. The fact that +he was making a will in your favor was a great comfort to him. They +had told him that he would be allowed to leave to-day. A number of +persons, yourself and Purvis and I among them, would have seen him +take the train to New York, with his cap and muffler and so on. Then +in the waiting-room at the Grand Central, he would have removed the +disguise. And in order that nothing should happen to you, when you got +this money, he had written you a letter, explaining everything. He was +very anxious that you should enjoy this fortune. But unluckily, Emma +found that letter… +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know whether in any case he would have been allowed to leave +the house. I—am afraid not. I am afraid that I should have signed a +death certificate without any proper examination… And looking back +upon it now, I think… But that’s too horrible!” +</p> + +<p> +“You mean I was to die, too?” +</p> + +<p> +“She told Purvis and myself that you were brooding over your +responsibility for your uncle’s attack of illness, and that she found +you had suicidal tendencies… I <i>cannot</i> credit this… ! I have known +Emma since she was a child…” +</p> + +<p> +“She’s gone?” +</p> + +<p> +“She and Peter.” +</p> + +<p> +“But Miles?” +</p> + +<p> +“We found Miles—dead—in the dining-room. He had shot himself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” she cried. “If he’d only known!” +</p> + +<p> +“Known what?” +</p> + +<p> +“He thought that he had done some—committed a dreadful crime—but he +hadn’t. If I could have told him!” +</p> + +<p> +“His troubles are over, my dear,” said Coat, and was silent for a +moment. Then he went on: +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps the most shocking part of this whole terrible affair—to +me—was the part played by those unfortunate children… I have never +particularly interested myself in mental cases, and I took it for +granted that Emma was giving them the best possible treatment. She was +not. She had made no effort whatever to ameliorate their condition. +She used them, in the most callous and unethical way, for her +experiments. I don’t mean that they were physically ill-used. Simply, +she took advantage of their misfortune for her own ends. She withheld +any treatment that might have helped them. Wren told me this. I don’t +know how he came to suspect it—” +</p> + +<p> +“One of the children was his?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. Emma had come across the child, and had offered to adopt it and +give it proper care and treatment. And the wretched man had acted as +an unpaid servant for years, in the belief that he was benefitting his +child. Your friend did a very beautiful thing.” +</p> + +<p> +“What friend—did what?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Blessington. He wished to see the body of his child. And found +it was not his child, but the other one. And Mrs. Blessington made him +a solemn promise that she would look after his daughter, would take +her to the best specialists, would do everything humanly possible. It +was the greatest possible comfort to him in his last moments.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s like her,” said Di. “And the other poor little thing was +dead?” +</p> + +<p> +“That disaster is inexplicable to me. Near where the child fell, we +found a peculiar object, a sort of dummy in a white dress… Fennel +thinks that the child saw this from the upper window, and in some way +was influenced by the suggestion. But I don’t know… Perhaps at the +inquest…” +</p> + +<p> +He rose hastily, and crossed the room, stood by the window with his +back to her. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t tell you—” he said, unsteadily, “how sorry I am that you +will have to be dragged into this—horrible thing. The innocent to +suffer for the guilty… But there is no escape for you—or for any of +us. The publicity will be merciless… I only hope to Heaven that Emma +will not be found and brought back. I—should find it—very +painful—to appear as a witness—against my old friend… As it is, we +shall come out badly, Purvis and I…” +</p> + +<p> +She lay still, thinking of that. It was not over; she had not escaped. +Every detail of this monstrous crime, every smallest action of her +own, would be made public. She would be an important witness in an +incredibly sensational case, she would be examined, cross-examined, +re-examined, all her words would be printed in the newspapers, she +would have to endure the most hateful and shameful publicity. All her +life, people would remember—“Yes—the one who was mixed up in that +murder case.” It seemed to her that, when she had crossed the +threshold of that house, she had left normal, cheerful life behind her +forever. That shadow could never lift. +</p> + +<p> +“And now—how are you feeling?” asked Doctor Coat. “The effects of +such a shock—” +</p> + +<p> +To his surprise, she rose to her feet. +</p> + +<p> +“I feel perfectly all right,” she answered. “What ought I to do? Tell +the police?” +</p> + +<p> +“Fennel has looked after that.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve dragged <i>him</i> into it,” she thought. “He’s not only been +wounded—twice—but he’ll have to be a witness, too.” +</p> + +<p> +She tried to consider what to do now. In the circumstances, it +wouldn’t be fair to go to Mrs. Frick’s. Reporters would come, and the +police… Hadn’t she read of “material witnesses being kept in prison”? +She didn’t care. If she were not in prison, what could she do? It +would be impossible to get a job now… She would be a notorious +character. She might even be suspected of complicity. +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Blessington waited to take you back to New York,” Doctor Coat +continued, “but I said I feared you couldn’t stand the journey. +However, you seem so much better than I expected—shall I call her +in?” +</p> + +<p> +“She’s here?” +</p> + +<p> +“Waiting in the next room. I should be glad to see you go with her. A +very kind and generous woman…” +</p> + +<p> +He opened the door into another room, and Angelina hastened in; she +was pale, but radiant as usual. +</p> + +<p> +“My dearest Di!” she cried. “Put some powder on your precious nose and +let’s get going!” +</p> + +<p> +“Will I be allowed to go? I mean—the police—?” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear, James can do <i>anything</i> with the police.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you know him well, Angelina?” +</p> + +<p> +“But my dear! He’s my <i>brother</i>! You <i>must</i> have heard me talking +about ‘Jammy.’ He’s a marvelous person. He’s written books, my dear, +about reptiles. And he’s just come back from a trip up the Amazon, +looking for boa-constrictors and things. The police will eat out of +his hand. And of course they’re frightfully impressed with Porter’s +money. I made a statement!” she added, with relish. “I’ll be in the +newspapers to-morrow morning—with one of my photographs. We told them +you were <i>much</i> too ill to be questioned to-night, but they’ll be +around early to-morrow morning. So come along and get a good night’s +rest.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come—where?” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear, some fearful woman told Jammy that you left my house without +a penny, and then I remembered… And both Jammy and Porter went for me. +I admit that I was a vile beast. But why didn’t you remind me, +darling?” +</p> + +<p> +She put her arm about the girl and kissed her. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m going to make up for it, every way I know!” she said. “Porter and +I are going to give you the most <i>peerless</i> wedding-present—” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not thinking of getting married,” said Di, with a faint smile. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, James told me!” said Angelina. “He wants the engagement announced +before the trial.” +</p> + +<p> +“Angelina! No!” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear, you must! Think how romantic—in the newspapers.” +</p> + +<p> +“Angelina, you can’t see anything—romantic—in this terrible +affair—” +</p> + +<p> +“Darling,” said Angelina, earnestly, “you haven’t done anything awful, +have you?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. But think of the publicity—” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, what of it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you realize how—disgraceful and—” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear—chump,” said Angelina, “you can’t be disgraced by things +that other people have done. You’re trying to act like these people in +French novels, when everybody has to commit suicide and break off +their engagements because some member of the family has ‘disgraced the +name.’ It <i>will</i> be trying and painful for you, but you are no more +disgraced than if you’d been in a shipwreck. And you’ve got James and +Porter and me to stand by you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Angelina, you don’t understand—” +</p> + +<p> +Then for the first time, Di could realize that Angelina was Fennel’s +sister. Across her radiant dark face came a look very like him, cool, +steadfast and grave. +</p> + +<p> +“Di,” she said. “You’ve come to the crisis. You’ve been through fear +and suffering and horror. And you’ve come through with courage and +honesty. James told me. He thinks there never was anyone like you. Now +look!” +</p> + +<p> +She drew the girl to the window, and pulled aside the doctor’s prim +little curtains. The moon was going down behind a hill, the sky was +still bright with the soft radiance; the Spring night was alive with +exquisite promise. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s an awfully big world,” said Angelina. “And it’s so beautiful. +You’re just coming out of a horrible black hole. And now you’ve got to +forget. It’s all over. Now you’ve got to go forward.” +</p> + +<p> +“She’s right, my dear!” said Doctor Coat’s voice behind them. +</p> + +<p> +“And now come on!” said Angelina, quickly dropping her serious air. +“James is in the darlingest little hospital here, and we’ll come out +to see him to-morrow. Porter’s waiting in the car. We’re going to +drive back to New York now—and eat. You look hideously thin. Come on, +Di! It’s over! We’re all sorry for the terrible things that have +happened—but they’re done. James will be all right in a week or so. +And you’re going to be <i>happy</i>. Come on, Di!” +</p> + +<p class="center mt1"> +[The End] +</p> + + +<h2> +TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES +</h2> + +<p> +Minor spelling inconsistencies (e.g. hillside/hill-side, +musn’t/mustn’t, wrist-watch/wrist watch, etc.) have been preserved. +</p> + +<p class="noindent mt1"> +<b>Alterations to the text</b>: +</p> + +<p> +Punctuation: fix some quotation mark pairings/nesting and some +missing/invisible periods. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +[Chapter Four] +</p> + +<p> +(“Uncle Rufus comes out every few months,” he roadside. said, “to see +if anyone’s) move “roadside.” to the end of the preceding paragraph. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +[Chapter Eight] +</p> + +<p> +Change “It <i>occured</i> to her that her reverie was becoming” to +<i>occurred</i>. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +[Chapter Twelve] +</p> + +<p> +“capable of feeling not the least regret for some <i>horible</i> act” to +<i>horrible</i>. +</p> + +<p> +(“If you’ll drive to the East <i>Hazlewood</i> Station,” she told) to +<i>Hazelwood</i>. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +[Chapter Thirteen] +</p> + +<p> +“Diana reflected for a <i>monment</i>” to <i>moment</i>. +</p> + +<p> +“But one of the other two will <i>succeeed</i>” to <i>succeed</i>. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +[Chapter Fourteen] +</p> + +<p> +“It was Aunt Emma who held her bound <i>ankes</i>” to <i>ankles</i>. +</p> + +<p class="center mt1"> +[End of text] +</p> + +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78323 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/78323-h/images/cover.jpg b/78323-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..c985796 --- /dev/null +++ b/78323-h/images/cover.jpg |
