TROUBLE IN THE AMEN CORNER.
Doubt,
A soul-mist through whose rifts familiar stars
Beholding, we misname.
--_Jean Ingelow_
[Illustration]
Milly had been unhappy for days.
And now a great trouble fell upon all of us. It was as though a dense
fog of doubt and suspicion had drifted in upon the Amen Corner,
separating dear friends, so that we could not recognize each other's
faces through its dense folds, and our voices sounded false and far away
as we called and groped for one another.
Our interview with Madame was very brief. I simply stated the fact of
the disappearance of the money, which the other girls corroborated.
Cynthia began to enlarge on the statement, but Madame stopped her.
"I have not time now to investigate this unhappy affair," she said.
"Indeed, it is something which will probably require the assistance of a
detective. Do not look so alarmed," she added to Milly; "I happen to be
acquainted with a gentleman--in fact, he is my lawyer--who has all the
qualifications of a very clever detective. I will write, asking him to
call, and to take charge of the case. He will keep it all very quiet. I
am glad that you have come to me first of all, and I particularly
request that you mention the fact of the robbery to no one."
With this she dismissed us, and we went to breakfast a little late,
feeling very important in the possession of a mystery. Winnie was the
only one whom this mystery did not seem to elate. Cynthia, who sat
beside me at table, was overflowing with glee.
"It is better than the most exciting story which Winnie ever told us,"
she whispered to me. "Won't it be fun to follow the unravelling of the
crime. Of course the detective will be led off by false clues, and all
that sort of thing, and the real thief will suffer all the torture of
alternate fear of detection and hope of escape; but the toils will
close gradually about the doomed individual. I shall not disclose my
suspicions till toward the last. Oh! what fun it will be to watch the
development of the drama. I should think, Tib, that you would write it
up."
"Your suspicions?" I repeated. "Do you really suspect any one?"
"Why, yes; don't you?"
"No indeed!"
"Then all I've got to say is that you are a lamb. You think every one as
innocent as yourself. Because you have the innocence of a lamb, you have
a corresponding muttony intelligence."
I was very indignant, but I did not show it. "Whom do you suspect?" I
asked.
"That's telling," she replied, "and I said that I would not tell at this
stage of the game."
Later in the day, as I left the studio to return to our study-parlor, I
met Winnie coming out. She had on her hat and cloak and carried my own.
"Come and walk with me," she said, "I feel all mugged up, and I need
a good tramp. Milly is in there trying to take a nap. Adelaide and
Cynthia are at recitation, and if you will come with me the poor child
can get a little rest."
As we marched around the school building together, I told her of my
conversation with Cynthia. Winnie started.
"I don't believe she really knows anything more than we do," I said.
"Cynthia loves to be important and aggravating. If she really knew
anything she couldn't keep it in."
"Find out whom she suspects," Winnie replied. "Cynthia is a real snake
in the grass, and can do a lot of mischief by fastening the crime on an
innocent person. I do not mean that she would do this wilfully, unless
she had a strong motive for revenge, but she is unscrupulous as to the
results of her actions, and loves to imagine evil and set forth facts in
their most damaging light. Find out, by all means, whether she really
knows anything likely to implicate any one."
"Cynthia is a hard orange to squeeze," I replied. "If she thinks I want
to know, she will delight in tantalizing me."
Winnie was silent for a moment. "Find out whether Cynthia slept soundly
all night, or whether she heard or saw any one in the parlor. She might
have heard me, you know, when I went out to look at the door."
"Sure enough," I replied. "If that is all I will get it out of her right
away."
We returned to our rooms. There was no one in the parlor. Winnie looked
into the bedrooms. Only Milly sleeping peacefully, and Winnie stepped to
the match box, took the key, and opened the safe. I do not know what she
expected to find, but she looked disappointed.
"Did you think the thief would help himself again in broad daylight?" I
asked.
"No," Winnie replied shortly.
At that instant Cynthia entered, flushed, and as it seemed to me
triumphant. "Mr. Mudge wants to see you, Winnie, in Madame's private
library," she announced importantly.
"Who is Mr. Mudge?" Winnie asked.
"He is Madame's lawyer. The keenest, shrewdest man you ever saw, with
little gimletty eyes that bore the truth right out of you; and such a
cross-questioner! If you have a secret, he knows it the minute he looks
at you, and makes you tell it, in spite of yourself, the first time that
you open your mouth. You need not try to keep your suspicions to
yourself, they will be out before you can say Jack Robinson."
Winnie gave a little sigh. "And you say he wants to see me?" she asked,
rising with a palpable effort.
"Yes, he wants to question us each separately, to see if our testimony
agrees, I suppose. He asked Madame, as I went in, if she had kept us
apart since the robbery to guard against any--collision--I think that
was the word!"
"Collusion," I corrected.
"No matter; he meant that we might have hatched up a story between us,
but Madame assured him that we were all honorable girls and incapable of
such a thing."
"Of course," he replied, "unless they happen to know or suspect the
culprit, and wish to shield her. In such cases, I have known the most
religious young persons to lie like a jockey."
Winnie left the room, throwing me a look of piteous appeal as she did
so, which I understood to beg me to find out all I could from Cynthia. I
rocked silently for a few moments, to disclaim all eagerness, and then
said casually: "I don't believe you would ever lie to save a friend."
This in a propitiating tone, adding to myself, "you would be much more
likely to tell a lie to get one into trouble."
Cynthia could not hear the thought, and she stretched herself
luxuriously on the divan.
"No," she replied, "I don't make any pretense of being good; but I
wouldn't do that. Whenever the Hornets got into scrapes, I always told.
Madame could depend on me for that. It is sneaky not to be willing to
take the consequences. Besides, you get off a great deal easier if you
own up; and others will be sure to throw the blame on you if you are not
smart enough to get ahead of them."
How I despised her. "I wonder if she thinks she is in danger of being
called in question for this crime," I thought, "and has made haste to
accuse some one else."
"You said you meant to keep your testimony until the end, so I suppose
you did not tell Mr. Mudge your suspicions," I remarked.
"Didn't I just say that I did tell him?"
"Well, as they are only suspicions I presume he paid no attention to
them. Lawyers generally tell witnesses to confine their testimony to
facts."
"But I had facts, suspicious facts; not ideas of my own, but important
circumstantial evidence."
"_In_deed!" I purposely threw as much incredulity as I could into the
way in which I uttered the word.
Cynthia sprang from the lounge, her eyes flashing with anger. "Yes,
_indeed_; very awkward facts for your precious friend Winnie to explain
away."
"Winnie!" I exclaimed, and then laughed outright.
Cynthia was furious. "What do you say to this Tib Smith? I saw Winnie,
with my own eyes, come into this room in her nightgown, with a lighted
candle in her hand, carefully close all the doors, and----"
"Pooh! that's nothing," I replied cheerfully. "I was awake; I saw her,
too. She merely crossed the room to see whether the corridor-door was
locked."
"Yes, and after that?"
"Came back to bed again."
"There you are telling a fib to save your friend. She did not go back
immediately. I was awakened by her softly closing my door, I got up and
peeked through the keyhole, and I saw her open the safe and rummage
around in it for quite a while, undoubtedly possessing herself of the
money. Then she locked it and hurried back to her room looking as
frightened as the criminal she was."
"It is not so! It is a wicked, cruel falsehood!" Milly cried, springing
into the room. I had forgotten her presence in the bedroom and Cynthia
of course did not know of it.
Cynthia was taken aback for a moment. "I will tell you why I know it was
so," she said at length. "After Winnie went back to the room, and before
any one else could have entered the parlor, I examined the safe and the
money was gone."
"That proves nothing," I said; "it was probably taken before Winnie
opened the safe."
"Then she knew of the robbery in the morning before the rest of you, and
never told."
"You knew and never told either," said Milly.
"I was waiting for the proper time," replied Cynthia. "If Winnie did not
take that money then she suspects who did. If she does not tell Mr.
Mudge her suspicions, she is trying to shield the guilty person, and
the--the shielder is as bad as the thief."
"There is no proverb that says so," I replied; "beside, you have proved
nothing. If all that you say is true--and I don't mind telling you,
Cynthia Vaughn, that I am not entirely sure of that--if what you say
_is_ true, you are as deep in the mud as Winnie is in the mire."
"You think Winnie a saint!" Cynthia sneered. "You don't half know her.
Before she came to room in the Amen Corner, and we were both in the
Hornets Nest up under the eaves, she was the Queen Hornet of all. There
was nothing which she would not dare to do, from letting down bouquets
in her scrap-basket to the cadet band when they serenaded us, to bribing
the janitor to let her slip out at night and buy goodies at the corner
grocery for our spreads. She was a regular case, and her pet name all
over the school was:
'The malicious, seditious, insubordinate,
Disreputable, sceptical Queen of the Hornets.'"
"We know all that," I replied, "but there are some things which Winnie
_could_ not do. She could not tell a lie, and she could not steal."
"I don't know about that," Cynthia continued coldly. "She comes from an
uncertain sort of Bohemian ancestry. You know her mother was an actress
and her father a playwright."
Cynthia told this with great triumph, evidently thinking that we had
never heard it.
"Madame told us," I replied, "that Mrs. De Witt was a very lovely
woman, who only acted in her husband's plays; that she made it her life
purpose to realize and explain her husband's ideals: and that he wrote
the part of the heroine especially to suit her, so that their creations
were among the most charming that have ever been presented on the
stage. They were devoted to one another, and when she died his heart
was broken. He does not write plays any more, but articles for
encyclopaedias, which is an extremely respectable profession."
"And you dared prejudice this Mr. Mudge against our own precious
Winnie," Milly continued. "You are just the meanest girl, Cynthia
Vaughn, that ever lived! But you never can make any one believe anything
against her. If, as Tib says, it lies between you two, we all know who
is the more likely to have done it."
Cynthia turned green. "Do you dare to accuse me?" she hissed.
"No, Milly; don't do that," I cried warningly, and the overwrought girl
burst into a flood of tears and threw herself into my arms. "We accuse
no one," I said to Cynthia. "I trust that you have been equally cautious
with Mr. Mudge."
"What I may have said or may not have said is no business of yours,"
Cynthia replied. "You have both of you insulted me beyond endurance, and
from this time forth I shall never speak to any of you. I except
Adelaide," she added, after a moment's consideration. "Adelaide is the
only member of the Amen Corner who has treated me like a lady."
"I think it would be pleasanter for you and for us if you would ask
Madame to let you room somewhere else," Milly suggested.
"I shall not go simply because you wish it," Cynthia replied. "I shall
stay to watch developments."
"And, meantime, I believe you said we were to be deprived of the
pleasure of any conversation with you," I remarked, rather flippantly.
Cynthia turned her back upon me and from that time kept her word,
maintaining a sullen silence with every one but Adelaide.
The bell rang for luncheon. The forenoon had seemed very long, and the
afternoon was simply interminable. Milly left the room with me. Cynthia
did not stir.
"Do you think she took it?" Milly asked, nodding back at the parlor.
"No," I replied, "she is altogether too gay. She evidently enjoys the
investigation. If she were the culprit she would be constrained,
nervous, averse to having the affair examined." I stopped suddenly,
realizing how exactly this description fitted Winnie.
"Adelaide believes," Milly said slowly, "that it was some sneak thief
from outside the house. Have you looked about in the studio for any
suspicious circumstances?"
I replied that I would do so after dinner, and then, as we passed into
the dining-room together, the subject was dropped.
Winnie came to the table late and passed me a note, which I read beneath
my napkin.
"Mr. Mudge wants to question you next. You are to meet him in Madame's
parlor immediately after luncheon. Hurry and finish, so that I can have
a minute with you before you see him."
I bolted my dinner, and Winnie sat silently staring before her, eating
nothing. We left the dining-room five minutes before the conclusion of
the meal, bowing as we passed Madame's table, as was our custom when we
wished to be excused before the others. Madame's attention was absorbed
by the teacher with whom she was conversing, and we passed out
unhindered.
"What did you find out from Cynthia?" Winnie asked, as we walked toward
the Amen Corner. "Does she suspect any one?"
"Yes," I replied. "She is perfectly absurd. It is just as you said; she
insists on fastening the crime on a perfectly innocent person."
Winnie drew in her breath. "One of us, I presume?"
"Yes, Winnie dear. But," I hastened to add, for she grew suddenly deadly
pale, "she can do no harm; her suspicions are too manifestly impossible."
"I don't know," Winnie chattered; "the reputation of many an innocent
person has been blasted by mere circumstantial evidence. What does
Cynthia know? What has she told?"
"That she saw you go to the safe in the night."
"Me? Then I am the one whom she suspects, and not--you are sure she saw
no one else?" Winnie laughed a long, joyous laugh. "I can stand it,
Tib," she said, "I can stand it. It's too good a joke."
"Of course," I said, "no one can prove anything against you. But did you
go to the safe? I didn't see you do so."
Winnie's face clouded. "Yes, I looked in to see if everything was
right. Mr. Mudge asked me if I had opened the safe during the night.
He said that some one of us had been seen to do it, but he led me
to suppose that he suspected some one else. I knew that he had his
information from Cynthia, and I was afraid she had seen some one else.
I mean--" and here Winnie corrected herself with some confusion--"I was
afraid that she might have taken me for some other person, and I was
very glad to acknowledge that I was the one who had opened the safe. I
don't think that Mr. Mudge believes that I am the culprit, for he smiled
at me in a very friendly way."
"How could he believe such a thing?" I asked. "It is perfectly
nonsensical."
"But if he does not suspect me, his suspicions will probably fasten on
some one else. On you, for instance, or Adelaide,--and I would rather be
the scapegoat than have any annoyance come to the rest of you."
We had reached the Amen Corner, and had just opened the study-parlor
door. Winnie gave a little cry of surprise. The door into the studio was
open and a strange man stood looking at the broken lock.