WHO WAS IT
Captain Seaford sitting in the sun, and mending nets, was aware that
something was causing great, and unusual excitement in his house.
He sat just outside the door, but the sound of hurried footsteps, of
eager conversation, of furniture being moved about, betokened
something disturbing in the atmosphere.
"Comp'ny coming, or some kind o' storm brewing!" he muttered with a
knowing wink, although no one was near to see the comical grimace.
Mrs. Seaford, usually calm and cheerful, now appeared in the doorway,
a frown puckering her forehead, and a troubled look in her eyes.
"I've been over to the village," she said, "and while I've been gone,
someone has been through the house, opened every drawer, pulled out
the contents and strewn them on the floor, and made a general mess
that I've worked an hour to clear up. Have you noticed anyone around
the place?"
"Haven't seen a soul," declared the Captain, "and I've been busy right
here since before you went out.
"Seems to me I did hear someone moving about at one time, but I'm not
even sure of that."
"Well, whoever it was managed to move about enough to make work for me
to clear up," Mrs. Seaford said.
"There's only one door to this house so how could anyone get out
without passing me? You must surely be mistaken."
"The person, whoever it was, didn't care to pass you coming in, or
going out of the house, so climbed through the window. On his way out,
he knocked some plants from the window-sill. Nothing has been stolen,
so I can't see the object in ransacking the house."
"'Taint poss'ble you're nervous, and imagine someone's been in, is
it?" he asked, anxiously scanning her face.
"Imagine?" Mrs. Seaford said. "Well, come in, and see what you think.
I've cleared the worst of it, but here's enough left to convince you."
He dropped the net on the sand, and went in. One look was enough.
"What in the world----!" he said, and no more, but his face spoke
volumes.
It remained a mystery. Who would care to disturb the contents of the
odd dwelling of the Seafords? Not a thief, surely, for it was well
known that while the genial Captain had, at one time, been well to do,
he had, for the past few years, had a struggle for existence. The old
ship's hulk, inverted, and furnished for a home, held but one
treasure, love, and that, priceless as it was, could not be stolen.
Who was the intruder? How had he come, and how had he vanished?
Dwellers at Cliffmore talked of it, at their homes, at church, and on
the beach, but no one could give the slightest clue that might help in
detecting the intruder.
Excitement usually lasted regarding one matter until another subject
was suggested, when the villagers would turn with fresh interest to
the latest bit of news.
Generally, it was a happening of small importance, that gained its
prominence from having been frequently described, but one morning
something occurred that shook the little fishing village, as Captain
Seaford said, "from stem to stern."
When Mrs. Wilton, the housekeeper at Captain Atherton's Summer home,
"The Cliffs," arose early one morning, she noticed that the Captain
had forgotten the French window that opened on the porch. It evidently
had been open on the evening before, and, by an oversight, had
remained open all night. At a glance she saw that someone had been
through the lower part of the house.
Drawers were wide open, their contents strewn upon the floor.
Flowers had been taken from the large jars that held them, and left
with their wet foliage and stems lying upon the polished table.
Delicate pieces of china had been lifted from the lower shelves of the
china closet, and placed upon the table, the window seats, and even
the piano boasted two dainty cups that the visitor, whoever it might
be, had placed upon the keyboard.
"Nothing is stolen," the housekeeper said, in reporting the mischief
to Captain Atherton, "and all the queer doin's are on the first floor.
Do you see that it looks as if the same person that went all over
Captain Seaford's house, has been roving through this one? Nothing was
stolen there, but everything had been handled and pulled around."
"I'll go out into the garden and think it over," he replied.
He left the house, but as he reached the lower step that led from the
piazza he saw that the bold intruder, not satisfied with the mischief
perpetrated in the house, had tried his hand at the garden. Beautiful
plants had been lifted from their pots and thrown onto the walk, the
hose lay beside them, running a stream, the fountain had been set
running, and an old broom, used by the gardener, to sweep the walks,
lay in the lower basin of the fountain.
The housekeeper followed him out onto the piazza.
"If you please, sir, I'd like just to say that I locked every door and
window, except the one that opens onto this piazza, from the library.
I went upstairs, knowing that you were still reading, and thinking
you'd like that window open 'til you went to your room for the night,
when you'd be sure to shut and lock it."
John Atherton nodded, and walked along the path. He knew that the
housekeeper was anxious to shift all responsibility from her broad
shoulders onto his.
"I guess I left that French window open, so that fault is mine, but
who would be interested to rove through a home, pulling things to
pieces, and making disorder, solely for the fun of doing it? Whoever
it is, does not care to rob. It's a puzzle that must be looked into."
The children were greatly excited, and inclined to look upon Polly and
Rose with envy.
It was interesting to listen while older people talked and argued as
to how it happened, and what sort of person played the pranks. Before
the Summer guests had half finished discussing the happening at
Captain Atherton's house, they were again startled.
It was early one morning, a half hour before breakfast would be
served, when a big, florid woman came down the stairway to the lower
hall, declaring that someone had been in her room, doing a deal of
mischief.
"Every article in my bureau drawer has been pulled out and thrown upon
the floor, gowns have been removed from my closet, and are piled up on
chairs in a heap, and my hats have been taken from their boxes and
packed up on my bureau. Something must be done about it!" she declared
in anger, and really one could not blame her.
The proprietor appeared, and promised all sorts of things to pacify
the woman and there the matter appeared to end, for search as they
would, no trace of the culprit could be found. The other guests felt
uneasy.
"Who could possibly guess whose room will be ransacked next?" said one
lady, to another who sat beside her at breakfast, to which the other
replied:
"A few more happenings of this kind, and I'll pack my trunks, and
leave for a place where I can, at least, expect law and order."
The guests of the hotel found it an interesting theme for
conversation, and talked of it morning, noon and night, until old Mr.
Pendleton, the invalid, became so tired of hearing about it that his
patience at last gave way.
"What a fuss! What a nuisance of a fuss! I declare. Women are upset if
their finery is tossed around a bit. Nothing was stolen, so why
complain? Why get excited?"
No one replied to his outburst. It was well known that to reply to Mr.
Pendleton was apt to provoke a torrent of abuse, so he was allowed to
sit in his big chair in the corner of the piazza, looking with sharp,
black, bead-like eyes from one woman to the other, silently amused,
because he believed that they dared not answer.
He was a tough, wiry old man, not really ill, but believing himself to
be an invalid, and enjoying the belief. Some one had heard a physician
say that an event, or happening of any sort that would startle him
into quick action would teach him that the health that he believed
lost, was still in his possession.
One morning the queerest thing happened, and as it was just after
breakfast, all the guests of the hotel were present to share the great
excitement.
While the guests were at breakfast, the maids had put their rooms in
order, and as it bid fair to be a hot day, nearly everyone decided to
spend the morning on the broad piazza.
Mr. Pendleton, as usual, sat in his favorite corner. He was talking
with another man about some distant city that each had often visited.
Evidently there was something about which they could not agree, for
their voices rose in angry dispute.
"I'm right in my opinion!" shouted Mr. Pendleton, in his thin, shrill
voice.
"And, sir, let me tell you that _I_ am right!" boomed the fat man in a
growling bass.
"I'll get my map and prove what I say!" cried Mr. Pendleton, springing
from his chair, and starting toward the hall.
The big man's laugh made him increase his speed. The other guests were
amused, but they were not prepared for the next thing that happened.
Old Mr. Pendleton came tearing down the stairs, at the risk of
breaking his neck, his cheeks flushed, and his small, black eyes
blazing.
"It's an outrage! It's disgusting! It's not to be endured!" he
shouted. "My room has been entered, and my belongings tossed about! My
pajamas are spread out on the floor as if someone meant to take a
pattern of them! My watch is soaking in the wash bowl, and my brush
and comb are each in a slipper. My topcoat is out of the window and
sprawling in the sun on the roof of this piazza, and every neck-tie I
own is hanging from the chandelier! I won't stand it!"
He paused for breath, and the woman whom he had vexed a few days
before, was so unwise as to speak:
"It might be well for you to realize just now that women are not the
only ones who are upset when their finery is tossed about. As nothing
was stolen, why complain? Why get excited?"
"Madam! You haven't the least idea of tact," he cried. "If you had
you'd----" but before he could complete his speech, the proprietor
arrived, and a much harder task he had to appease the wrath of Mr.
Pendleton, than that of the fat woman whose room had been entered a
few days before.
The mystery might never have been solved but for something that
occurred on the following morning.
A room on the second floor had windows looking out upon the sea. The
door stood open, and a maid passing along the hall, paused to look in.
Guests were not in the habit of leaving their room doors wide open.
What she saw made her tip-toe softly away to a screen in the hall.
From her position she could watch the inmate of the room.
That room had been hired by the fat man with the big voice who often
talked, and oftener disputed with Mr. Pendleton.
It was easy to touch a button on the wall close beside her, and the
bell-boy responded in a few seconds. The maid held up her finger, at
the same time pointing toward the open door, and whispering:
"Sh--! Go quick and get Mr. Buffington. Tell him somebody is in his
room. Don't make a sound here. I'll watch while you're gone. Rush
now!"
Mr. Buffington, big and ponderous, soon appeared, puffing like an
engine. The maid saw him as he appeared above the stairs, and quickly
held up her finger, as a signal to him to make no noise.
Puzzled, yet impressed, the big man tip-toed along until he stood in
the doorway.
The intruder stood, back toward the door, and for the moment, was so
occupied with pulling over the contents of a large trunk that
footsteps outside the door were unnoticed.
"You little rascal!"
These words shouted made the intruder actually jump.
"Ah, now, Miss Gwen, how happened ye in there?" said the maid.
Gwen, thoroughly frightened, tried to rush from the room, but it was
useless. The big man filled the doorway. He did not intend to hurt
her, when he firmly grasped her arm, but he did intend to give her a
lesson, and he proceeded to do it, walking her along the hall on the
way to the stairway.
Usually, Gwen's boldness was equal to any emergency, but this time she
was too frightened to object, to wriggle in the firm grasp, or indeed,
to do anything other than allow him to take her wherever he chose, and
he chose----the piazza filled with guests.
Mrs. Harcourt, at the farthest end of the piazza, busy with her
embroidery, did not look up when the two appeared.
"I found _this_ in my room!" said the angry man. "Anyone who owns it
may claim it. _This_ is what has been entering rooms, and handling
other people's property."
"Oh, mamma! Why don't you come and tell them I don't do such things!"
Of course Mrs. Harcourt dropped her embroidering frame, and rushed
forward, snatching Gwen from the big man's grasp.
"'Twould be useless, because I caught her just as she had opened my
trunk, and was examining all my belongings. The best thing to do with
your smart girl, is to keep her away from hotels, unless you can keep
a chain on her to keep her from prowling," growled Mr. Buffington.
"You don't understand children!" declared Mrs. Harcourt, as with Gwen,
she went up the stairway to her room, to which the big man responded:
"I shouldn't want to if they're all like that!"
Of course the piazza was alive with buzzing voices.
"What a perfectly horrid child!"
"I'd be ashamed of her if she were mine, the little imp!"
These and similar remarks were to be heard on all sides.
Gwen had been pert and saucy, bold, and annoying in many ways, but
that a little girl could be the person who had boldly entered any
house, or any room at the hotel, poking her impudent little nose into
any house or room that remained unlocked, was really a surprise.
They had all believed it to be the work of a man, but no one could
understand what prompted him to handle every article in the place that
he entered, yet never steal a thing. Now it was easier to understand.
Gwen had everything that love could think of, or that wealth could
provide, but her curiosity was great, and she could not keep her
mischievous hands off from things belonging to others.
Mrs. Harcourt, angry over what she thought was "outrageous rudeness,"
packed her trunks, and in an hour's time, left the hotel.