|THE woman who had so unmercifully used me had not taken into account
the fact that the spirit is stronger than the flesh. Certainly, the next
morning I wanted nothing so much as to lie still in my bed for a week.
My cuts and bruises were stiff and sore; I ached from head to foot.
But my resolution was strong. I had my meals sent up to me that day,
however, but in the evening, after dinner, I sent for Sara.
She came and presented herself, sullen and impassive, at the foot of my
bed. I fixed my eyes on her as coldly and malevolently as I could.
“Sara,” I said, “as you see, I chose to be laid up to-day.”
She grinned.
“Now, without a moment's delay I want you to leave for Pine Cone and
stay there for the next twenty-four hours, or until I send for you.”
She looked surprised and reluctant, a red flush came up into her big
face.
“So's you can make off with the swag,” she muttered; then shrank at the
scowl I gave her, and made an awkward and unwilling apology.
“All right, then,” she said. “How about the work? What about Mrs.
Brane?”
“I'll make it right with Mrs. Brane,” I said crisply. “Trust me for
that. Now, before you go, step over to the desk there and write what I
tell you.”
She obeyed, and I dictated slowly: “Meet me on bridge at eleven o'clock
to-night. Wait for me till I come. Maida.”
She looked at me with her lids narrowed suspiciously, and my heart
quailed, but the moment of inspection passed. In fact, nobody could have
imagined the resemblance that undoubtedly existed between the leader of
the enterprise and my wretched, daring self.
“Who's that for?” she asked, “and what's up? Ain't I to know anything?
What price all this?”
“What price!” I echoed, “just our lives--that's all. Do as I say, and
you'll be a wealthy woman in a fortnight. Don't do it, even a little of
it, and--and perhaps you can guess where and what you will be.”
She gave me a hunted look, glanced about the room over her shoulder,
and, obedient to my gesture, handed me the paper she had written.
“And no questions asked,” I added sternly. “Don't let me hear another
word of it. Now, get my cloak and hat and leave them in the kitchen
on the chair near the stove. Get out as soon as you can; don't wait a
minute. And leave the kitchen door unlocked. Go all the way to Pine Cone
and stay in the room above the drug-store. The woman is always ready to
take a boarder. I'll send you word before to-morrow night. Get out, and
be quick. Above all, don't be on the bridge to-night.”
She vanished like a shadow, and I sat waiting with a pounding heart. If
she fell in with that red-haired double now, my game was up. Everything
depended upon her leaving the house without any conflicting orders,
without her suspecting my duplicity.
I sat up in bed till it seemed to me that she had had time to get my hat
and cloak and to make her own preparations. Then, wincing with pain, I
dragged myself up and limped over to my window. A moment later Sara came
round the corner of the house and started down the road. There was just
enough twilight for me to make her out. She walked slowly and doggedly,
carrying a little bag in her hand. I wondered if Mary would come flying
to me with the news of this departure, or if Mrs. Brane and Paul Dabney
would observe it. No attempt was made to stop her, however, or to call
her back. She went on stolidly, and stolidly passed out of my sight. It
was in strange circumstances that I saw her big, handsome face again.
I waited till I thought she must have had time to reach the lane outside
of “The Pines” gate, then I began painfully, slowly to creep into my
clothes. Often I had to rest; several times I stopped to cry for pain.
But I kept on, and at last I stood fully dressed before my mirror. My
mouth was cut and torn; my face scratched; a raw patch on one cheek; the
marks of the branch lay red across the base of my neck, and burned about
my shoulders. The sight of my injuries and the pain of them, throbbing
afresh with movement, inflamed my anger and my courage. I moved about
the room several times, gradually limbering myself; then I went quietly
out of my room and down the hall towards the kitchen stairs. It was
then about ten o'clock. Mrs. Brane and Paul Dabney were probably in
the drawing-room, quietly sipping their coffee; Mary would be upstairs
preparing Mrs. Brane's bedroom for the night; Henry would have washed up
his dishes and be gone upstairs to his room, unless he had received some
further orders from the hidden mistress of the house. I had to take this
risk. I stole down the kitchen stairs, and, opening the door a crack,
I peeped into the kitchen. The lamp had been turned low, the fire was
banked up for the night. A plate, with cup and fork and spoon, was laid
out on the kitchen table, and on the back of the stove a frying-pan full
of food was set to keep warm. What a _gourmande_ Sara must think her
leader whom she saw eating heartily enough at Mrs. Brane's table, but
who insisted, besides, on a heavy meal at night! I thought I knew who
would presently appear to enjoy her supper. She would fancy the kitchen
door securely locked; she would fancy that I was successfully laid by
the heels. I wondered what her plans for the night might be. I set my
teeth hard to keep down the rage that mounted in me at the very thought
of her. Sara had obediently placed my cloak and hat on one of the
kitchen chairs. I decided that there was no time to waste. I slipped
quickly into the room--I was in stocking feet--locked the kitchen door,
hid the key in my pocket, put the note that I had dictated to Sara
under the plate on the table, and then, stealing softly to the door of
a narrow closet where Sara kept her brooms, I squeezed myself in and
locked the door on the inside. When the key was removed, I put my eye
to the large, worn keyhole, and had a clear but limited view of the dim,
empty room. I knelt as comfortably as I could, for I knew that I should
have to keep my position without the motion of a finger when the room
should have an occupant. My heart beat heavily and loudly, my hurts
throbbed at every beat. It was a painful, a well-nigh unbearable
half-hour that I spent cramped there in the closet, waiting, waiting,
waiting.... At last--such a long last--there came the ghostly sound of a
step.
It drew nearer; I heard a faint noise of shifting boards, the door of
the low closet under the stairs opened, and out stepped the hideous
image of myself. The shock of that resemblance almost sent me off into
a faint. I had seen the creature only once face to face; now, in the dim
light of the kitchen lamp, I studied her features. Disfigured by passion
and guilt, it was nevertheless my face. This woman was older, certainly,
by many years, but a touch of paint and powder, the radiance of
moonlight, might easily disguise the lines and shadows. She was as
slender as a girl, and a clever actress could simulate a look of
innocence. I almost forgave Paul Dabney as I watched this other “Me”
move about the kitchen on her noiseless feet.
She went to the stove, took up the frying-pan, and carried it over
to the table. On the way she noticed my cloak and hat and stopped,
evidently startled, holding the pan in her hands. She glanced nervously
about the room, went over to the door that was at the foot of the stairs
and tried it. I was thankful that I had taken the precaution of locking
it. I hoped she would not notice that the key was gone. She returned
to the table and sat down before the plate. Then she saw the note
and snatched it up. She bent her fiery head, arranged so carefully in
imitation of mine, over the writing. I saw her lips move. She looked
up frowning, uncertain, surprised. Then she walked over to the stove,
thrust Sara's note into the fire, returned, and stood in deep thought in
the middle of the room. I was sick with suspense. Clouds passed over my
eyes. Would she fall into my clumsy trap? Presently she walked slowly
over to my cloak and hat and put them on. With the hat pressing her soft
hair down about her face, she was so terribly like me that my uncanny
fears returned. She must be some spirit clothed in my aura, possessing
herself in some infernal fashion of my outward semblance. A cold sweat
had broken out over me. I felt it run down my temples.
Another long minute she stood there, debating with herself; then she
looked at the clock, made use of her ghastly smile, and stepped quietly
across the kitchen and out into the night. I waited--a fortunate
precaution--for she came back five minutes later and peered about. There
was nothing to alarm her since she could not hear the pounding of my
heart. She decided to follow the instructions, and again disappeared. I
waited another fifteen minutes, then, cold with fear and excitement, I
came out of my hiding-place. I glided over to the door, and looked out.
It was a dark and cloudy night. I could hear the swinging and rustling
of the trees. There was no other sound, nor could I see anything astir
in the little garden except the gate which was ajar and creaking faintly
on its hinges. She had gone.
I came back hastily into the kitchen and lighted a candle which was
stuck into a tin candlestick on a shelf. I looked at the clock. It was
now half-past ten. In half an hour the woman would reach the bridge. She
would wait for Maida, perhaps an hour, perhaps not so long; after that,
she would be suspicious and return. I had therefore not more than an
hour, with any certainty, to follow the directions I had memorized; to
rifle the hoard, and to make my escape from the thief's hiding-place.
Then I would telephone to the Pine Cone police.
I opened the door of the low closet under the stairs.