Larry Donovan jumped to the door.
But it was Mr. Wells' grim face that appeared in the circle of light
and his grimmer voice that asked harshly:
"What's the matter? What's all this disturbance through the building,
Donovan? Every door is open and there's a general turmoil."
They faced him indignantly, fellow tenants and janitor. Each had had
some experience with him that had been more unpleasant than pleasant.
All of them knew that he disliked Mary Rose, that he had complained to
the agents because she lived in the basement with the Donovans. Each
of them resented the selfishness that had brought him down to make
another complaint when all of them were so worried and anxious. It was
Bob Strahan who put some of this feeling into words.
"No doubt you'll be glad to hear that Mary Rose, the little girl who
has been such a nuisance to you, has disappeared?" he said
sarcastically.
Mr. Wells looked at him from under his shaggy eyebrows. "What do you
mean?" he snapped. "What do you mean?"
Everyone tried to tell him at once but Mrs. Donovan who was sobbing in
her apron and could not speak. Mr. Wells looked at her oddly.
"Nonsense!" he said when the story was clear to him. "She's locked
herself in somewhere as she did once before." He had heard of the time
the wind had slammed Mrs. Bracken's door and shut Mary Rose inside.
"She's fallen asleep."
"We've been in every flat but yours," Larry Donovan told him dully.
"Everyone but mine?" repeated Mr. Wells. "Well, she wouldn't go
there." Then he remembered that Mary Rose had been there in a
neighborly desire to be kind to him when he was ill, in a friendly wish
to tell him of her belief in him when he was under suspicion, and he
colored painfully. For all he knew she might be there now. She had a
habit of going when and where she pleased. That was what made her such
a nuisance in his eyes. "You can come and see for yourself," he said
sharply. "So far as I know there's no one there. Sako is out and I've
just come in."
They trooped eagerly after him up the stairs to the second floor, and
he had an unpleasant feeling that they expected to find Mary Rose
locked in his apartment, a prisoner by his orders. Hadn't Mary Rose
herself told him that he was suspected of doing cruel things? Well, he
didn't care what they thought, he muttered to himself as he put his key
in the lock. But he did care. Cross and crusty as he was, he was
human, and deep in the hearts of all human beings is the desire to have
people think well of them.
It was the first time any of them but the Donovans had been in the
apartment. Mr. Wells threw open doors to closets and pantries. He
even scornfully opened drawers and cupboards.
"Make a thorough search while you're about it," he snarled.
Under the sink in the kitchen Bob Strahan caught a bright gleam. He
stooped down and picked up a piece of heavy brass wire. It had been
broken at both ends and was twisted and bent. Bob Strahan stared at it
and whistled softly.
"What is it?" Miss Carter ran across to him. He drew her aside and
showed her the brass 'wire. "Do you see that? It's the kind of wire
that bird cages are made of."
"Oh!" Miss Carter stared at him. She couldn't believe it. She turned
and stared at Mr. Wells as he stood so contemptuously and watched his
neighbors. There was a sneer on his face. "I w-wouldn't have believed
that anyone would be so despicable!"
"He's been a selfish brute, always finding fault with everyone and
everything. You might almost think he was the darned old owner
himself," muttered Bob Strahan.
"He wouldn't make himself so disagreeable if he was the owner." Miss
Carter nodded a wise head. "He'd be too anxious to please his tenants.
No, it's just because he's so selfish and disagreeable and," she looked
at the broken wire and thought of friendly Jenny Lind, "brutal!"
"You're quite sure the child is not here?" they heard Mr. Wells say in
a voice that was as sarcastic as a voice could be, and there was a most
unpleasant glare in the cold black eyes. "Quite convinced that I
haven't hidden her away to fatten for my breakfast?"
"Mr. Wells! Mr. Wells!" began Mrs. Donovan indignantly but her spirit
died and she cried instead--quite involuntarily you may be sure: "Oh,
Mary Rose said there was sure to be good in you if we'd look for it."
It seemed to Miss Carter that a black screen was drawn over Mr. Wells'
face. He said not a word but walked to the door and threw it wide
open. One by one his neighbors went out. No one said anything; there
seemed to be nothing to say.
"Good night." Mr. Wells spoke with cold, almost ominous, curtesy and
he would have shut the door in their faces if he had not caught the
pitying look in a girl's eyes. A dull red crept into his face.
Involuntarily he stepped toward Elizabeth Thorley. "If you hear
anything of the child let me know," he said as if the words were forced
from him, and then he slammed the door behind him.
As they went down the stairs Miss Carter dropped behind the others. So
did Bob Strahan. As he waited for her he saw her dab her eyes with her
handkerchief and he put out his hand and touched her arm.
"Look here," he spoke sharply. "That won't do. Mary Rose is all
right, you know." And he gave her a little shake.
"I'd like to see that for myself, that she is all right." She dabbed
her eyes again with the damp little square of linen.
He put a hand on each shoulder and looked directly into her tear-wet
eyes. "Listen to me. I shan't go to bed until I do know that she's
all right. I couldn't sleep. Mary Rose has done too much for me.
When I think--Lord!--when she came here I was a friendless young cuss
hanging on to a job by the skin of my teeth and now--You know I used to
be crazy to know you when I met you in the hall and on the stairs and
it was Mary Rose, bless her heart! and her canary who made it possible
for us to be friends. I can't forget that and I'll find her."
She looked up and there was a light in her eyes that caused his hands
to tighten on her shoulders.
"You know I love you, honey," he said quickly. "I think I've always
loved you and ever since I got a real grip on my job I've wanted to
tell you. If you could care half as much for me as I do for you
I'd--I'd--" he stopped before he told her what he would do for she had
lifted her face and he had seen there that she did care, as much as he
did. He stooped and kissed her.
She kissed him also and clung to him for a moment before she pushed him
away.
"We--we shouldn't be thinking of ourselves now," her voice trembled.
"We must think of Mary Rose."