THE GRAY LADY
The shadowy form seen by Kate Clendennin near the conservatory was no
phantom born of emotional excitement, but a flesh-and-blood creature,
a keenly alert sentinel, stealthily waiting and watching for a
specific and serious purpose.
For more than one of the dwellers at Ipping House this had been an
important day. To Betty Thompson it had brought, the suddenly
revealed glory of a deep love, to Lionel and Kate the first delicious
whisperings of mutual passion and the pain of renunciation, to
Horatio Merle it had brought humiliation and self-abasement, and to
this poor, soul-stifled girl, Hester Storm, it had brought the
opportunity to steal $25,000.
With her own eyes Hester had seen the purse; it was there in the golf
bag, she had almost had it in her hands. Almost! If that
tumble-haired, shifty-eyed chauffeur had kept away she would have had
the money. And if Mrs. Baxter hadn't borrowed the golf bag, just at
the wrong moment, she would have had it. Hard luck twice. Well, the
third time would be different, and she would land the goods. In the
whole world she was the only person who knew where this purse was, so
all she had to do was to watch the golf bag and wait for another
chance.
Through the long afternoon Hester watched and waited in Betty
Thompson's chamber, showing an industry and zeal in her sewing that
Betty thought most commendable. All this time the girl was eyeing
the clock, wondering if, before she finished her work, Mrs. Baxter
would return the golf bag. But no Mrs. Baxter appeared and at six
o'clock she was obliged to go. Miss Thompson wished to dress for
dinner and--no, she did not need a maid.
Hester walked slowly back to the lodge considering what her next move
should be. Evidently she must act quickly or someone else might see
the purse. Someone might already have seen it. Some caddy boy! Or
Mrs. Baxter herself. There it lay, down among the clubs, quite
unguarded except by the darkness in the bottom of the bag. Hester's
hope lay in that little layer of darkness and in the unlikelihood
that any one would search there.
What would Mrs. Baxter do with the golf bag after she had finished
using it? She would naturally return it to Miss Thompson. She would
return it this evening and Miss Thompson would naturally put it in
her chamber, just where it was this afternoon, there in the corner by
the dressing-table.
And then what? The Storm girl's face darkened and her hands shut
tight. This was no time for trifling with fortune. The opportunity
was hers now, this night, but it might be gone to-morrow. She must
act at once. At once! Before she reached the lodge this decision
had taken form vaguely in her mind, and, before she had finished her
supper, it was clearly crystallized: she must do something before
morning. Something! But what!
At a quarter before seven Hester heard the panting of an automobile
near the lodge gate and, hurrying to the window, she watched Mrs.
Baxter and Robert as they swept past in the big, closed car, the
young man driving. Stare as she would the agitated girl was unable
to catch sight of the golf bag, but she knew it was inside the car,
it must be there; in a few moments it would be back in Ipping House,
where she might get it--if she only could think how--later in the
night.
Later in the night! That meant entering the big house secretly and
lying in wait until she could make her search. She could look in the
library, in the hall, in the hall closet under the stairs. That
would be easy, but suppose the golf bag were not there? What if Mrs.
Baxter had brought it to her own bedroom or to Miss Thompson's
bedroom? Then what?
Hester finished her supper soon after seven and immediately went to
her room--to be alone--to think. She felt impelled to do this thing,
but she must plan every move with the utmost caution. No one, better
than she, knew how dearly she might have to pay for one mistake.
At nine o'clock the girl stole softly out into the park. Old Mrs.
Pottle had gone to bed early and the lodge was still. An Petronia,
with her four beloved "Pottles" ranged beside her, was dreaming of
"Reginal" and his misfortunes. Over the beeches and the dim, gray
mass of the manor a purple darkness was settling and the little
creatures of the night were pulsing their strange chorus. The air
was warm and the girl went forth, bareheaded, gliding among the
shadows like one of them. There were several small objects in her
trunk that she might have taken to help her on this sinister
expedition, several objects that she was impelled to take, but, on
reflection, she left them behind, all but one.
For a long time Hester hovered about the manor watching the lights,
listening to the sounds, rehearsing over and over again in her mind
the details of the night's effort, as she thought it would work out.
Mr. Baxter was in London. Mrs. Baxter had gone to her room, there
was her light, burning brightly, one flight up under the gray stone
tower. And there was Mr. Robert's light, two flights up over the far
end of the conservatory. The golf bag would not be in his room, that
was sure.
What about Miss Thompson? For nearly an hour her little chamber had
been dark. She must have gone to bed early. Sound asleep by now.
Hello! There goes Mr. Robert's light. And there sound the stable
chimes. Ten o'clock! All dark downstairs except a light in the big
front hall.
And now two dim figures approached across the lawn, Fitz-Brown and
the Countess, and Hester shrank away among the shadows. Lionel took
down a key from a nail outside the conservatory (where he often left
it when he came in late) and, opening the door, bowed Kate in, then
followed, closing the door, but quite forgetting to lock it. Thus
fortune favored the young adventuress, as it had before many times.
With the illumination of a match held by Lionel, the tardy pair
passed through the dark conservatory, then on through the library and
out into the spacious hall, where each took a silver candlestick from
a table where a row of these were placed in shining readiness every
evening.
Very cautiously Hester opened the conservatory door and stepped
inside, closing the door silently after her. Motionless, almost
breathless, she listened as the others parted at the stairs. Queer
lovers! Was that the best they could do?
"Good-night, Kate."
"Good-night, old chap."
Lionel extinguished the hall light and, with flaring candle-shadows
dancing behind them, these two climbed the stairs. Then came the
closing of distant bedroom doors and Ipping House, dark and silent,
settled down to slumber, while the adventuress waited.
Eleven! Twelve! One o'clock! to the slow, soothing voice of the
bells. Those who prowl by night under strange roofs must learn
patience and, while these hours passed, Hester scarcely stirred,
except from chair to bench, then back again from bench to chair,
noiselessly, for she wore sneakers with rubber soles. She played odd
little games with the moon-beams, making bets with herself as to how
long, measured in heart beats, it would take a certain little
flickering yellow fellow with a funny tail to creep from one crack to
another. And she found that she could make her heart beat slower by
taking long, deep breaths, which sometimes helped her to win.
At half-past one Hester turned the switch of a tiny electric lantern
that hung from a cord around her neck. A beam of concentrated light
flashed across the room and instantly vanished as the switch went
back. The storage battery was working well. It was time to start.
Throwing her spot of light here and there, the girl made a round of
the conservatory, scrutinizing every corner. The golf bag might be
here, one never could be sure. Then, finding nothing, she passed
into the library and repeated her search, then on into the great
shadowy hall, all to no purpose. The golf bag was not there. This
was only what Hester had expected. It was altogether likely that
Mrs. Baxter had done one of two things with the bag: either she had
returned it to Miss Thompson, in which case it was now in Betty's
chamber, or, possibly, she had taken it to her own bedroom. And the
conclusion was, if she was going on with her search, that the girl
must now, in the dead of night, enter two rooms where defenseless
women were sleeping. This was a serious matter; it meant years in
prison if she were caught.
For several minutes Hester pondered this, while disconnected memories
of her troubled life came and went through her mind, like pictures,
memories of when she was little and of her sister Rosalie. It seemed
as if now, in the darkness, she could see Rosalie's sad, tired face
and loving eyes fixed on her. Well, she was doing this for Rosalie,
she wanted the money for Rosalie and--she had gone pretty far
already, why not go a little farther?
In this resolve the intruder moved back into the library and, without
giving herself time for further hesitation, she cautiously ascended
the winding stair that led to Betty Thompson's room. If the worst
came, she did not believe this kind-eyed girl, her fellow
country-woman, would betray her. Besides, why should there be any
trouble? It was only a matter of silently turning the knob. The
noiseless creeping light would do the rest. If she saw the golf bag,
there by the dressing-table, she could get it without a sound. And,
anyway, Betty must be in her deepest sleep. It would take more than
the squeak of a board or the crack of a too tense knee-joint to rouse
her. None of which reasoning availed, for now, when Hester turned
the knob and pressed, she found an unyielding barrier against her;
the door was locked.
So that was settled. If the golf bag was in Betty Thompson's chamber
it must stay there. She would take no risks of picking a lock
and--perhaps this wasn't her lucky night. Perhaps she had better
fade away before anything went wrong.
Crouching on the lower step of the stair, Hester heard the chimes
ring out the third quarter before two. Only fifteen minutes since
she began her search! Should she make one more effort? Should she
try Mrs. Baxter's room and, if nothing came of that, then stop for
the night? It wasn't likely both women would lock their doors.
The girl was perfect in the geography of the house. Mrs. Baxter's
room was one flight up by the main staircase, the second door on the
right going down the hall. It was easy enough to go to this door
and--very well, she would go there and then decide. No great harm
could come from listening at a door. Alas! One never knows how harm
may come!
Swiftly and silently the restless searcher glided through the great
hall, then up the massive stairs of heavy polished oak, finding her
way through the darkness by the guiding flashes of her lamp. But
when she reached the head of the stairs and turned cautiously down
the corridor, she stopped with a frightened gasp, for there, beyond
her, spreading under the second door, Mrs. Baxter's door, was a band
of light. And even as she stood, hesitating, her fears were
increased by the sound of footsteps in the bedroom. Not only was
Mrs. Baxter awake, she was coming toward the door.
Like a flash and noiselessly, the Storm girl darted on and vanished
into the black depths of the corridor beyond. If the mistress of the
house had heard her on the stairs, it was toward the stairs that she
would go now, so the safest place was away from the stairs.
Trembling and breathless the girl shrank behind some heavy curtains
at the end of the hall and waited.
A moment later the door opened and Mrs. Baxter appeared in a long
loose garment and carrying a candle. The light was full on her face,
which was deathly white and bore, Hester thought, a look of terror.
And, as the lady moved down the corridor, holding her flickering
taper, she seemed to shrink away from the black shadows around her.
And when she reached the stairs she hurried down with furtive glances
behind, as if she felt herself pursued. What trouble or mystery was
here?
The girl listened until Mrs. Baxter's footsteps sounded in the hall
below, then she followed softly and, leaning over the railing,
watched the movements of the candle. It disappeared into the library
and presently there came the sound of an opening door. Mrs. Baxter
had gone through into the conservatory. What could she want in the
conservatory at this time of night? Could she suspect there was an
intruder in the house? Was it this that caused her fears?
Impossible! No woman would leave her room to meet a hidden burglar.
She would scream: she would alarm the house; she would do anything
but face the dangers lurking in a shadowy conservatory.
Then what was the explanation? Why had Mrs. Baxter, with pallid face
and haunted eyes, gone down those stairs? She must be searching for
something that she needed very much. Strange, that there should be
two women in this house searching for something that they needed very
much! And, suddenly, Hester realized that here was her chance to
look into Mrs. Baxter's bedroom. The door was ajar, the light was
still burning. One quick glance would tell her what she so much
wanted to know.
There! The door opened noiselessly as she pressed it back. Not a
sound from below. Now, then! The girl stepped into the chamber and
looked about her. On a small table at the head of the rumpled bed
lay a book, face downward, by a shaded lamp. Mrs. Baxter had
evidently been trying to read herself to sleep. Some exciting story,
no doubt, that had made her wider awake than ever.
Hester moved softly about the room, looking in every corner, flashing
her light into closet and bathroom, then she came out softly into the
hall. The golf bag was not there.
Well, this finished her effort for the night. She had had no luck
and--the best thing she could do was to get out of the house. What
could that woman be doing down in the conservatory?
Again Hester listened at the stairs, but her straining ears caught no
sound nor could her eyes perceive the faintest glow from Mrs.
Baxter's candle. Absolute darkness! Absolute silence!
And now, with infinite precautions, the girl descended the stairs,
feeling her way, for she dared not use her light. She was taking a
risk, but she might be taking a greater risk by staying upstairs.
She had a vague feeling that something was about to happen in this
vast, gloomy house or that something already had happened. She felt
herself stifling. At any cost she must escape from these confining
walls, she must get out under the open stars where she could breathe.
And she remembered, with a clutch of fear, that old Mrs. Pottle had
spoken of a haunted room in Ipping House whence a gray lady came
forth at night and wandered through the halls, a gray lady whose
coming was attended by clanking chains and sounds as of a heavy body
dragging.
Even as these gruesome thoughts chilled her heart the girl's foot
touched the lowest stair and a moment later, as she stepped out
gropingly into the black hall, she felt herself held from behind, as
by a hand, whereupon, in a burst of terror, she tore herself
violently free. At the same instant there resounded through the
house a great clanking of metal and the crash of a heavy body
falling. Then silence again, while Hester stood still frozen with
fear. And now, from the direction of the conservatory, there came a
piercing, agonized shriek.
It was an emergency to daunt the stoutest heart, but Hester rose to
it, conquering her panic, because she realized that she must conquer
it. Everything depended upon what she did in the next few minutes:
her happiness, her freedom, her whole existence depended upon her
getting out of this house immediately. Some frightful thing had
happened that would presently throw the whole establishment into
tumult.
Another shriek rang through the house, a pitiful cry of distress and
call for help. What could be happening? Hester herself was moved to
bring succor to this poor lady, but she checked her impulse as the
sense of her own danger came to her with the quick opening of a door
overhead and the sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs. It was
Robert Baxter, hurrying down from the second floor, and calling as he
came:
"Mother! Where are you? What is it?" he cried, and Hester heard him
turn down the corridor on the first floor. He was going to his
mother's room. There! He had found it empty. He was rushing back
to the stairs.
"Mother!" he shouted again. "Where are you?"
Huddled in the hall below, Hester thought of the front door, but she
knew it was chained and bolted. There was no time to escape that
way. Already Robert was on the stairs, descending slowly in the
darkness. It was lucky he had not stopped to get a candle.
Swiftly the Storm girl retreated into the library. Her case was
desperate. Mrs. Baxter was in the conservatory, so her escape that
way was blocked. To hide in the house now would be madness. It was
only a matter of minutes when the whole household would be aroused,
when lights would be blazing in every room and----
Then came the inspiration. It was a wild, last chance, but she must
take it. A few moments before she had noticed a motor veil left by
some one on the davenport. She snatched this up and, moving silently
toward the conservatory, draped it over her face and figure. The
veil was of elastic, filmy material, long and wide. It covered the
girl from head to foot, shrouding her in silver gray.
At the open door leading into the conservatory Hester paused and,
settling her ghostly draperies about her, stood still. Through the
crack of the door she could see Mrs. Baxter in the conservatory,
rigid with fright, still holding her candle and staring wide-eyed
before her.
"Mother!" called the young man for the third time. "Speak to me!
Where are you?" He was stumbling about in the dark hall.
This time Eleanor heard the comforting voice of her son and tried to
answer.
"Bob!" she cried faintly, and staggered toward the library door.
"Bob!" she called, louder, and took a step into the shadowy room.
Then, as the candle light flamed forward, she came, suddenly, face to
face with a still figure, a shrouded, sinister woman in gray. It was
too much. It was more than Eleanor Baxter could bear. With a
stifled moan she sank down on the library floor and was conscious of
nothing more until she opened her eyes weakly and found Bob bending
over her.