The night after my birthday party, at which the hostess was clothed in
pink pyjamas and a coral bath-robe and one of her guests wore a crêpe de
chine nighty, I slept badly. In the first place I was bruised and sore
from my fall and in the second, frankly frightened. I kept imagining
that I heard things, as you do when the lights are out and the world is
still outside. My furniture creaked as the damp, night air crept in. A
board snapped, then my radiator clanked. I used my flashlight about two
hundred and eight times and then, ashamed of myself, lay back and
decided I would go to sleep and not be silly. And I did go to sleep.
When I awoke it was quieter than ever and very still, but I knew by the
goose-flesh, hot-and-cold, choked sensation I had, that I had been
awakened by something foreign, perhaps a noise that should not have
been, and that I was not alone. I lay shaking, but with my eyes closed,
and then I felt a light flash across my face. I stirred, sighed as you
do when half-awake, and turned. Then I heard footsteps near my bureau
and a gently, sliding noise which was the drawer being pulled out. I
stealthily reached for my night light, but it had been set off the table
on the floor--put of my reach. And my flashlight was gone.
I did some quick thinking; in fact I don’t know how I got all the
reasoning I did in those few minutes, but somehow it went in. I reasoned
that if I called I would be hurt before anyone could reach me, and that
I had no chance to get up and get out of the room--alive. And I decided
that if the bracelet was the only thing wanted, I would not be hurt if I
kept quiet; so I adopted the policy of possums and lots of the little
grapevine insects that look so much like twigs or a bit of leaf--and lay
still.
I heard the trap snap and a muttered word that is absolutely unquotable,
and I had to smile, even then! And I was fearfully frightened--almost
sick from fright to be truthful. Then I turned again and sighed and I
_heard_ the man, woman, or whatever it was, grow quiet. Absolutely
_heard_ he, she, or it, hold its breath, wait in suspense, and the
silence of the moment was louder than lots of noises. It simply
throbbed.
Then there was a soft noise and I saw a dark form in front of the
window, heard a scratch of a heel going over the sill and something
scratch. I coughed, there was a quick movement from the window, and I
knew I was alone. It was a cloudy night, with the air still threatening
snow and the court is dusky even in daytime, so I could not even get an
outline of the intruder, which I wanted and so greatly needed.
I heard a scuffle outside, as if someone were sliding down against
bricks, and then there was silence, throbbing silence once more, which
seemed loud as it so often does at night. . . . I lay very still for
several moments, perhaps it was many minutes; I don’t know, for I was
sick and shaking and I imagine half-fainting, because the bed seemed to
be floating. Even then, I was ashamed of myself for my lack of courage.
When I at last got my nerve back, I sat up, wiped my forehead, which was
wet, mopped off my cold, damp palms, and felt around for my night light.
I found it, about a yard from my bed, and after I set it back I lit it
and looked around. Nothing was disturbed, but I found that the trap was
gone.
“Well,” I thought, “I have you now----” and I stood looking down at the
empty box, and smiling--but I missed it. Something was disturbed. A
piece of wood was torn from the window-sill, a great piece which had
been started in a jag by the holes made that night of the rappings, and
on the remaining splinters of this was a piece of cloth, quite evidently
torn from clothing.
“If I were only a Sherlock!” I thought, as I held it. I didn’t dream it
would ever really help, but I put great faith in the scar that a trap
would leave.
After that I went over to sleep with Amy. She moved as I crawled in by
her, but didn’t wake. I was glad that I didn’t disturb her, for she had
been to a party the night before which lasted longer than my birthday
affair.
In the morning Amy got up without waking me and at ten aunt came in to
sit down on the bed.
“Didn’t sleep very well?” she asked, eyeing me quite anxiously, I
thought.
I said I hadn’t, very.
“Um----” she mused, and then: “Well, we’ll have a nice breakfast in bed
after you’ve been in the tub. Use those bath salts the doctor gave you,
dear--very relaxing. And I’ll hunt something for you to read.” She was
very nice to me and I did so appreciate it.
“Evelyn wanted you to go driving with her; she’s decided to go out
to-day; but I wouldn’t let her call you. Got up and had breakfast with
her father this morning for some reason. Usually we don’t see her before
ten on Sundays, but the young mind is a riddle. . . . Do you think you
can go to sleep again after breakfast?”
I said I’d try.
“I’ll send Jane in to get you a fresh nightdress and to help you bathe,”
said aunt as she stood up, and then she patted my cheek, murmured
something of an engagement, and left. When Jane came in I nearly
fainted. She had her right hand done up, and she told me she had run an
ice-pick into her second finger and that it “hurt something fierce.” I
thought she was pretty cool about it, for at that time I was sure it was
Jane.
“Didn’t know the cook let you touch the refrigerator,” I said, as I
kicked off my slippers and stepped in the tub.
Jane, who was picking up my nighty, explained that the cook had been out
and that she was entertaining a “gentleman friend,” who had brought a
bottle of beer with him. And that sounded queer to me. It isn’t just the
thing one would pick out for an offering to Love, and besides it is not
as common as it once was.
“He’s lucky to have it,” I said, and then: “Do you like ice in beer? I
didn’t know people usually put it in that.”
Jane grew pink and she looked at me appealingly. I couldn’t soften, for
I knew I must get whatever clues I could.
“Some people likes it in,” she said lamely and then went to get me a
fresh nightdress and a négligé of Amy’s that Aunt Penelope had told her
to let me wear.
She brushed my hair and tied it with great bows of wide pink ribbon and
then tucked me into bed.
“Jane,” I said, “haven’t I always been good to you? I’ve tried to be.”
“You always have been, miss,” she answered. “You have a pleasant way
with yuh, and Ito and me is always saying how different you are from
Miss Evelyn and----”
“Never mind about that,” I said. “But if you ever wanted anything very
much I hope you would come to me and ask for it--or tell me about
it--instead of borrowing whatever you liked for especial occasions.”
“That’s what maw always called it,” she said, “just borrowing. She took
in elegant washes and we kids wore them clothes regular. We certainly
missed maw when she died!”
Jane wiped her eyes, and although I felt sorry for her I did want to
smile. She _mixed_ things so.
“Did you like the bracelet,” I asked boldly, “and simply want to wear it
occasionally--borrow it?”
“What bracelet?” she asked, but she coloured hotly. I gave up. I’d tried
to give her a chance, but I saw she wasn’t ready to surrender without
war. After a few more moments of puttering and making me comfortable,
she left and I lay thinking how it could be solved. Then Ito came in
with a wicker breakfast tray which stood on little legs, and on this was
a pink china breakfast set which was cheerful and easy to eat from. Ito
had put a rose between the folds of my napkin and I was pleased.
“That is so pretty, Ito!” I said. “I wasn’t very hungry, but I am
now----” and then I stopped, my eyes glued to his hand, the right one,
which was bandaged. I gasped.
“You’ve hurt yourself?” I asked.
Ito grinned widely. “Everybody have bandage,” he remarked pleasantly.
“Jane have ice-pick in finger, I sharp knife for benefit of steak and
make mistakes in direction. Everybody stabbed to bleed.”
I giggled a little, it seemed so funny. “Who else?” I asked in despair.
“Miss Evelyn shut hand in motor door, it smash open,” he went on. “Mr.
Kempwood new servant hurt hand to cut on bottle that is fall to floor
and break. All is hospital.”
I said I was sorry for them, but started laughing. Ito joined me, and
just at that moment Evelyn appeared “Have you seen Amy?” she asked. I
said I hadn’t.
“Had to go to the doctor’s the minute she got up,” Evelyn explained.
“She didn’t say a word to anyone about it, but was awfully game. It
seems she got up to close a window last night--the wind was frightful,
you know--and she was half asleep, I imagine, and fumbled it, for the
window came down on her fingers and she was really hurt. . . . What,
your hand too, Ito?” And she began to laugh with us.
But no one had the full appreciation of the joke that I had. It really
was funny, although it did disturb me. I began to believe it was Jane.
But I looked at the sample of cloth that had caught on my window-sill
and wondered why Jane would wear that sort of a suit at night, and why
she would go out on the balcony when she might have left more easily by
my door? For while the balcony does lead past Amy’s room to the pantry
window, my door is the first on the hall which belongs to the sleeping
part of the apartment, and to leave by that would mean running no risks
of encountering anyone’s wakefulness on return. I remembered the
scratching noise and wondered whether I had heard it--what it meant? But
I wasn’t to know for some time after that.
The next week was quiet, but the week after----! Words fail! There
should be one word that implies hair standing on end, cold chills,
shaking knees, goose-flesh, and a heart going about twenty-seven
thousand hard whacks to the minute. I could use that word. I really
_could_, and--I need it!