HALLOWEEN TRICKS AND WHAT CAME OF THEM.
[Illustration]
Evening was falling when Adelaide returned from her interview with Mr.
Mudge.
"Has not Milly returned yet?" she asked, as she entered the door.
"No," replied Winnie. "Has Mr. Mudge gone to interview Celeste?"
"No, he is off on another scent. He has gone to interview Professor
Waite."
"What does Professor Waite know about the matter?" I asked in surprise.
"Nothing. It only shows the imbecility of these detectives who insist on
pursuing every impossible as well as every possible clew."
"Tell us all about it," I entreated. "I should like to know how it was
possible to drag Professor Waite into the business."
"Why, through the transom, of course," Adelaide replied, and we all
laughed at the absurd suggestion. "The first question that Mr. Mudge
asked was, 'Have you any theory or suspicions in regard to this affair,
Miss Armstrong?' I answered that I had determined from the first that it
was the act of some sneak-thief, who had watched us, through the
transom, put the money into the safe."
Again Winnie made an involuntary movement as though about to speak, but
restrained herself, and Adelaide continued:
"I told him about the face at the transom in the Rembrandt hat, and he
asked me if it was Professor Waite. I told him that I thought not. The
head looked smaller and the hat came lower down over the eyes and at the
back than it would have done on the professor. Besides, the professor
has that little pointed Paris beard, and this face had a smooth chin. I
saw it plainly for a moment in profile. Mr. Mudge did not seem to be
satisfied and made me admit that I might have been mistaken. Professor
Waite's beard is such a very immature affair. Then he asked me how an
outsider could have introduced himself into the studio without coming in
at the front door, which is guarded by the janitor, and coming up the
grand staircase past Madame's room and twenty other rooms, all occupied,
and likely to have their doors open in the evening. I told him that
there were two other ways: the fire escape----"
"Both the corridor window and our own were locked on the inside," I
interrupted.
"He said he found it so--and agreed with me that the turret staircase
was the more likely entrance. I explained that the spiral staircase in
the turret was built especially for the use of the physician when this
part of the building was the infirmary, and that in order to quarantine
it from the rest of the school, there were no entrances to the turret
on any of the other floors--that it led directly from the studio to the
street, and that no one used it but Professor Waite, who kept the key of
the outer door; that he might have negligently left this door unlocked,
and in that case a tramp could easily have slipped in, and as there was
no communication with any other room he would have found himself, on
reaching the end of the staircase, in the studio and in front of our
door. Mr. Mudge then questioned me as to Professor Waite's habits. Did
he usually spend his evenings in the studio, and were we in the habit of
visiting back and forward in a friendly manner through the door with
the broken lock? This made me very indignant. Such a thing, I assured
Mr. Mudge, would be contrary to the rules of the school, and to the
instincts of any self-respecting girl. The door had never been opened
since the lock was first broken, and even Tib, whose duties required her
to be in the studio during half of the day, always entered it by the
corridor door. As to Professor Waite, he did not board in the house. I
believed he belonged to several artist clubs--the Salmagundi, the Kit
Kat, and others--and that he probably spent his evenings there, or in
society, or at his boarding house around the corner; at all events, he
never painted in the studio in the evening, for I had heard Tib say that
the lighting was not sufficient for night work. There was a rumor, too,
that Professor Waite was very popular in society; but that Tib could
inform Mr. Mudge much more explicitly than I on all matters relative to
the professor's habits, as I had never interested myself in him, and
what he did or did not do was of no manner of consequence to me. This
seemed to amuse Mr. Mudge very much, but he replied politely enough
that he had never for an instant imagined that a young artist, like the
professor, could be anything else than an object of supreme indifference
to any right-minded young lady, and then he proceeded to question me
more closely than ever. Though Professor Waite did not usually spend his
evenings in the studio, did he not occasionally drop in on his way home?
Had we ever heard him ascending or descending the turret stairs at about
midnight, for instance. I was obliged to confess that I knew of one
instance when he had visited the studio at that hour, for I had met
him on the staircase; that he was returning from an evening spent in
sketching at the life-class of the Kit Kat Club, and he had run up to
the studio to leave his drawings and materials before returning to his
room at the boarding house. That it was very possible that he did this
frequently. Then, of course, he asked me how it happened that I was
going down that staircase at such an unseemly hour on the occasion when
I met Professor Waite, and I had to confess all that maddening Halloween
business."
We all shouted, for this was a particularly painful subject with
Adelaide. It was the one practical joke which we had ever had the heart
to play on our queen.
Such grave consequences attended this Halloween trick that it is
possibly worth while for me to turn aside from the direct record of the
robbery and devote a chapter or two to a confession of one of our most
serious scrapes.
It had been suggested by Cynthia and approved and carried out by Winnie
before the days of the breaking off of their friendship. Cynthia had a
way of suggesting plots for less cautious people to carry out, whereby
they burned their fingers like the cat in the fable of the chestnuts.
The Amen Corner had conducted itself with praiseworthy propriety
after the opening escapade of the season--that of the roller-coaster
trunk--for the space of a few weeks. But when Halloween came we all
felt the need of what Winnie called an explosion. We had been too
preternaturally goody-goody, and the escape valve must be opened. We
decided to celebrate the eve of "antics and of fooleries" befittingly,
and we arranged to bob for apples, to snatch raisins from burning
alcohol, thereby ascertaining the number of our future lovers.
We tied our garters around our feet
And crossed our stockings under our head;
We turned our shoes toward the street
And dreamed of the ones we were going to wed.
We poured molten lead into water, striving to ascertain the occupation
of our future husbands from the forms which it took. Adelaide's emblem
was something like a letter A, and we all declared that it was a perfect
easel and quite wonderful; but when we threw apple peelings over our
heads, Milly's broke into two sections, remotely resembling a scrawling
C and a W. Milly herself was the first to recognize the letters and to
blushingly declare that of course it was too absurd, it could not mean
Carrington Waite.
Adelaide's younger brother Jim was attending the cadet school in the
city. He admired Milly exceedingly, as did many of the cadets who had
met her at a fair given at Madame's, the previous year, for the benefit
of the Home of the Elder Brother. Stacey Fitz Simmons, drum major of the
cadet band, and the best dodger and runner of the school foot-ball team,
was also her devoted admirer. The button which Mr. Mudge had discovered
in Milly's bureau drawer was not from a West Point uniform but from
Stacey's; and the foot-ball team was not the Harvard--but the Cadet
Eleven. We all tried to find emblems in the molten lead, or initials in
the apple parings, suggesting the cadets, but Milly would none of them.
There was a Mr. Van Silver, much favored by Milly's family, a caller at
their cottage at Narragansett Pier, whom Adelaide had met while visiting
Milly the previous summer. He was principally remarkable for owning a
coach and four-in-hand, and as he had on one occasion invited Adelaide
to a seat on the box, it was a little fiction of Milly's that Mr. Van
Silver was her humble slave. But we were all innocent in the ways of
flirtations and, with the exception of Milly, heart whole and fancy
free, and it was really a difficult thing to conjure up imaginary
lovers--for the occasion.
The _piece de resistance_ of the evening was the trick played upon
Adelaide. We planned on our programme that just as the clock struck the
hour of midnight we would all try the experiment of walking downstairs
backward with a lighted candle in one hand and a looking-glass in the
other. Of course it would never do for the procession to file down the
grand staircase in front of Madame's rooms, but the spiral staircase,
secluded in the turret, offered peculiar advantages for the scheme. It
communicated with no other floor, only Professor Waite had the key to
the door at the foot, and he was never in the studio at night. So the
girls believed, until I informed them that he always came in for a few
moments on Wednesday nights to leave his sketches made at the Kit
Kat--and Halloween that year happened to fall upon a Wednesday.
"So much the better," said Cynthia. "We will make Adelaide head the
procession, and she will see Professor Waite's face in her mirror. It
will be too good a joke for anything, for she can't bear the sight of
him since she made that unfortunate speech when she saw him standing in
the open door and thought it was Winnie _en masquerade_."
"I am afraid it will be twitting on facts," I said; "for I more than
half suspect that Professor Waite admires Adelaide as much as she
detests him. He has asked me more than once why she does not join the
drawing class--and even suggested that I should induce her to pose for
the portrait class. He said her profile was purely classical, and that
she took naturally the most superb poses of any girl that he had ever
met."
"So much the better," Cynthia declared. "It will be the best joke of
the season. What time does he usually arrive?"
"He said, in telling one of the class, that he always leaves the Kit Kat
at half past eleven, and reaches the street door of the turret on the
stroke of twelve."
"Delightful!" exclaimed Winnie. "Fortune favors our plans. What fun it
will be!"
It was thought best not to admit Milly into our confidence, for fear
that she could not keep the secret. All went well. We played our tricks
and Winnie told ghost stories, but it seemed as if midnight would never
come. At one time we fancied we heard a noise in the turret and we
looked at each other apprehensively. Had anything happened to bring
Professor Waite back earlier than usual, and would our plans miscarry,
after all? At ten minutes before twelve we organized the procession.
Milly was timid and persisted in being in the middle. To our disgust
Adelaide refused to lead. "Winnie proposes it; let Winnie go first,"
she said resolutely.
"All right," Winnie assented, after a thoughtful pause. "I will if
Adelaide will come next."
Cynthia and I looked at her inquiringly. We did not quite see how this
would answer.
"Tib, let's go and see if Snooks is in bed and the coast is clear,"
Winnie suggested. "It's a pity that we can't get into the studio through
this door, but that chest is too heavy for us to push aside."
Winnie and I reconnoitered, and as we opened the door into the turret
she told me her plan.
"I will lead rapidly and when I get to the bottom will scud into that
little closet under the stairs where they keep the lawn mower, so that
Adelaide will be virtually at the head. We must start right away, so as
to give me a chance to get into my haven of refuge before Professor
Waite arrives."
We all tiptoed into the studio and lighted our candles there, after
we had closed the corridor door. We had had quite a time collecting
mirrors. Adelaide and Milly possessed handsome silver-backed
hand-glasses. Winnie carried a pretty toilet mirror with three folding
leaves. I had a work box with looking-glass inside the lid, and Cynthia
had unscrewed the large mirror from her bureau. We were all giggling
and shivering when Winnie, our marshal, gave the signal for the start
in the following order: Winnie, Adelaide, Milly, myself, and Cynthia
bringing up the rear.
The steps winding around the central pillar were narrower at one end
than the other and it was rather difficult to tread them backward. The
fall wind blew through the slits of unglazed windows and extinguished my
candle. Winnie, in her haste to get to the bottom, fell, extinguished
hers also, and hurt herself quite severely, but she had determination
enough to pick herself up again and limp on. Suddenly there came a
strong draught of air and there was a halt in our march. Milly whispered
that she could hear voices, then Adelaide, who was a little way in
advance, shrieked and came running up the stairs. We were all huddled
together in a jam. Cynthia was shouting with laughter, Milly crying with
fright, Adelaide choking and incoherent with indignation.
"Hurry, hurry!" she cried, pushing us back; "he is coming; he is just
behind me."
We were only a few steps from the studio and we all bundled in--but in
the confusion Milly had dropped her candle, and the light Mother Hubbard
wrapper was all in a blaze.
Cynthia rushed wildly out of the room. I have no recollection of what I
did, but Adelaide fought the flames with her hands; but she would never
have conquered them, and our darling might have died a cruel death in
torturing flames, if Professor Waite had not dashed into the room,
wrapped her in a Persian rug, and extinguished the fire. Strange to say,
she was entirely unhurt. Only her beautiful blond hair was singed, and
that was afterward attributed by her friends to an injudicious use of
the curling irons. Adelaide's hands were badly burned and Professor
Waite bathed them in oil, while an older, serious looking man, who had
followed Professor Waite, whom we only noticed at this stage of the
proceedings, wrapped them in his white silk muffler. Then Cynthia
appeared at the door with a white face and a small water pitcher, and we
were able for the first time to laugh in a hysterical way. Fortunately,
no one had heard us, and we slipped back to the Amen Corner.
Milly was awe-stricken by the peril through which she had passed, but
there was a strange, happy look upon her face which I did not understand
until, as I tucked her away in bed, she pulled me down to her and
whispered in my ear:
"He held me in his arms, Tib; for one heavenly minute he held me close,
close in his arms. I felt the hot breath of the flames, but I did not
care. I was willing to die, I was so happy----"
"My poor little girl," I said, as I kissed her, "you must not let
yourself care for Professor Waite, for he does not----"
"I know," she replied, "he loves Adelaide; he can't help it any more
than I can help----"
"Hush," I said, "this is all foolishness; put it right out of your
little head. You are only sixteen; you are not old enough to care for
any one. You will laugh at this by and by."
She shook her head solemnly. "I shall always remember, Tib--that for one
heavenly minute he held me tight--so." And she embraced her pillow with
all her small might, nestling her hot cheek against it in a way which
would have been absurd if it had not been so unspeakably pathetic.
Adelaide strode into the room at this juncture with the air of a tragedy
queen.
"Thank Heaven, you are safe, Milly dear!" she said, pausing beside the
bed, but her look was not one of pious thanksgiving. Her voice had a
sharp sound, and a crimson spot flamed on her dark cheeks. "He dared
to hold my hands in his," she murmured, "and, worse still, to call me
'noble girl,' and his 'poor child'; and he will think that I went down
those stairs on purpose to see his face in my mirror. Oh, how I hate
him, how I hate him!"