While the House Burned ...
When Mrs. Fishberry left Helen Tower locked in the empty house on
Saturday evening, to take a train back to Chicago, she was exceedingly
pleased with herself. Everything had turned out wonderfully, she
believed, and she would soon be married to a rich man. When the law suit
was over she would go abroad with Ed—or perhaps join him abroad, for he
seemed to think it was necessary to get out of the country immediately.
Well, perhaps he was a little bit crooked——
But Mrs. Fishberry did not believe him to be as wicked as he really was.
She thought that perhaps Linda Carlton had hit Helen with her autogiro,
and though there was no real witness to the accident except Dorothy
Crowley, Mrs. Fishberry did not consider it wrong to bribe someone to
make up the testimony. After all, Linda Carlton must be rich; there was
no reason why she shouldn’t part with some of her money. The girl was
always winning prizes—probably without much effort on her part, Mrs.
Fishberry believed.
She was so late getting into Chicago that night that she waited until
Sunday noon to call Ed. She was anxious to tell him of her success, not
only in obtaining the pictures and the records about his niece, but of
securing the girl herself under lock and key. Ed would rejoice at the
news, for he had not expected her to accomplish this feat before Sunday.
To her dismay, however, a strange voice answered the telephone in Ed’s
apartment. When Mrs. Fishberry gave him her name, he explained that he
was Leo Epstein, the lawyer whom Tower had employed to take charge of
the damage suit against Linda Carlton.
“And I have sent a telegram to Miss Carlton, informing her of our
intentions,” he said.
“In my name?” demanded Mrs. Fishberry.
“Yes, of course.”
“But I’m not married to Mr. Tower yet,” she protested. “It won’t be
legal for me to sue Miss Carlton unless I’m the girl’s real aunt.”
“It’ll be legal by the time the case comes up. Those things take a long
time—unless Miss Carlton is willing to settle out of court. Maybe she
will pay us twenty-five thousand dollars to keep us from suing her.”
“She’ll never do that!” asserted Mrs. Fishberry.
“Why do you say that?” asked the lawyer. “Mr. Tower seemed to think that
there might be some chance of it.”
“Because I know Miss Carlton. She isn’t the sort of person to run away
from trouble. And Mr. Tower doesn’t know Miss Carlton, or he wouldn’t
think she would.”
“Hm,” remarked Mr. Epstein.
“Well, when will Mr. Tower be back?” the woman inquired impatiently. “I
would like to be married before we get the girl.”
“That isn’t possible, Mrs. Fishberry,” he said. “And it really doesn’t
make a bit of difference. Mr. Tower is out of town now and may not be
back for several days. He left word for me to tell you to call him up at
the Central Hotel in Milwaukee to-morrow morning, if you had anything to
say to him that was important. I suppose if you wanted to see him, you
could go there. That is the only message I have, Mrs. Fishberry.”
“I see,” replied the other, as she hung up the receiver. She was so
angry at the way Ed Tower did things, the way he never seemed to
consider what she wanted to do, that she thought of going home to
Montana, and dropping her part in the affair. After all, was it worth
it? What was she going to get out of it? And she certainly didn’t want
to have to look after Helen Tower for the rest of her life.
Ed was certainly a selfish man. Oh, he was attractive, and nice if he
wanted to be, but wasn’t he just using her now to help him get this
money? How was she to be sure that he would ever share it with her if he
did get it?
She would have dropped the whole thing then and there—for Mrs. Fishberry
had never been a dishonest woman before—had it not been for the thought
of poor Helen Tower locked alone in that empty house. Although she had
no love for the girl, and believed her to be feeble-minded, she could
not bear the thought of her being burned alive, as she might be if Ed
went alone to the house without knowing that Helen was there. No; Mrs.
Fishberry couldn’t back out now. She’d have to take the sleeper to
Milwaukee in time to be there in the morning, to go with Ed and rescue
the girl.
A little after eight o’clock the following morning she arrived at the
Central Hotel and was informed that Mr. Tower was at breakfast. She
joined him, for she had eaten nothing on the train.
“Hello, there, Elsie!” he cried, cheerily, as she seated herself at the
table with him. “Have you found my niece?”
“Yes,” she replied, briefly.
“Where is she now?”
“Locked in the empty house.”
“But we don’t want her there!” he stormed. “Of all the fool places to
leave her—” He stopped, remembering that he was in a public place, and
refused to discuss the subject until they were both seated in his gray
open roadster, speeding away from Milwaukee somewhat later in the day.
It was then that Mrs. Fishberry insisted upon an explanation of his
disapproval of what she had done with Helen.
“I don’t see why I should have been bothered with her over Sunday,” she
said resentfully, “when you were off having a good time!”
“Oh, is that so?” he retorted, in irritation. “Well, I told you to get
hold of her—and keep her. Now if she sees me set fire to the house,
how’s that going to fix me with the police?”
“I never thought of that,” admitted Mrs. Fishberry.
“That’s the trouble with you! You never think! Well, we’ll have to think
of something now.”
They drove along at a rapid rate after leaving the city, stopping only
once to have an early dinner at a wayside inn. It was then that the man
decided upon a plan.
“I think the best idea is for you to drive when we get in sight of the
house, and I’ll get out and hide somewhere while I put on a disguise.
You take the key and go into the house and get the kid. But when you get
outside again, you’ll have to pretend that there’s something the matter
with the car, because I want it left for me. So you and the kid can walk
to the station. I won’t sneak up to the house till after you’re well out
of sight, so as Helen won’t see it burning.”
“That’s all very well for you,” objected the woman, “but not so good for
me. You know it’s at least five miles to the station!”
“Can’t help that! It’s your fault for not thinking what would happen if
you left the kid in that house.”
“Oh, all right,” she agreed, sullenly. There seemed to be nothing else
to do.
But this plan was naturally never carried out, for the simple reason
that when Mrs. Fishberry arrived a little after seven o’clock, the girl
was nowhere to be found. A hasty glance at the broken lock on the front
door, the open kitchen door, and the smashed windows assured her that
Helen had made her escape. It never occurred to her to suspect that the
latter might be somewhere else in the house—or in the tower. She felt
relieved that she was gone; she was tired of the whole affair.
She ran back to her companion with the news. He fairly snorted with
anger.
“Balled everything up, didn’t you?” he cried.
Mrs. Fishberry stood still and laughed. He was such a funny-looking
object in that disguise—a gray wig and a false beard, and a long linen
duster. Though the sun had set, it was not yet dark, and she could
plainly see him, crouched under some bushes.
“You’re a sight!” she sneered. “And I bet they catch you!”
“What’s the matter with you, Elsie?” he demanded.
“Nothing—oh, nothing,” she replied hastily, but already she had decided
that she was through with Ed Tower.
The man came out of his hiding place and lifted a suitcase from the rear
of his car. But he did not think to ask Elsie Fishberry for the key, and
here he made a mistake which he was to regret bitterly later on.
He trudged along up the path to the house, afraid to hurry lest someone
see him and suspect him. If he walked along like an ordinary old
peddler, nobody would think anything about him.
But once inside the house, he did not loiter a minute. Opening up his
suitcase, he took out great wads of cotton waste which had been
previously soaked in oil. These he piled under the huge wooden
staircase, and applied a match. As the rags burst into flames he
hurriedly left the house, carefully closing the door behind him.
Before he had reached the road he could see the smoke pouring through
the chimney of the fireplace, and out of the broken kitchen window.
There was no doubt that he had succeeded in setting the house on fire,
no doubt that it would burn to the ground. By to-morrow the news would
have reached the papers. On Wednesday he ought to be able to go to the
Trust Company in Chicago and collect that money which was his father’s
small fortune. For now at last the officials would be assured that Henry
Adolph Tower’s will could never be found.
He chuckled to himself with satisfaction as he reached the road and
looked about for his car. But that chuckle abruptly changed to an oath
as he failed to see it. It was gone! Elsie Fishberry had double-crossed
him, and had run away!
For a few minutes he stood there in the road, hoping that she was only
playing a practical joke upon him, and that she would suddenly drive
into sight. But as the time passed he gave up hoping, and snatching off
his wig and his beard, he flung them, with his linen coat, into the
bushes, and started on his five-mile hike to the station.