For three-quarters of an hour Eugene made it lively for his family.
He stalked upstairs, captured his pampered young son in the act of
purloining one of his clean handkerchiefs, gave him a cuff on the ear
and ordered him in no gentle tones to go to one end of the village as
fast as his legs could fly and find out if Joyce was at Auntie Summers
or had been there, and demand her presence at home at once on important
business. He jerked a library book away from his daughter and sent
her to the other end of town to make the same inquiry at a home where
Joyce had been a frequent visitor, and then he strode to his own door
and shook it demanding entrance in such a tone that Nannette dared not
ignore it. He gave his hysterical wife a rough shake and told her it
was no time to indulge her temper, that action was necessary. She must
get to work on the telephone at once and find Joyce. They must meet
that appointment at Judge Peterson’s on the hour or they might lose
everything. The son had said that his father was very insistent about
having Joyce present when he read the will. It would look very queer if
Joyce didn’t turn up in time.
He succeeded in frightening Nannette sufficiently so that she wiped her
eyes and went to the telephone, calling up one and another of Joyce’s
friends, and in honeyed tones asking if she had stopped there on her
way home and might she speak to her a minute, there was an errand she
wanted done on the way back that couldn’t wait. But one and all said
that Joyce had not been there that day, and two women answered, “Why, I
heard Joyce had gone away on a visit” so that Nannette turned from her
fruitless task at last with a much disturbed face.
“She isn’t in town,” she said, “There isn’t another place I can think
of to call.”
“Well, think of all the places out of town then, find out where she is,
and I’ll get an automobile and go after her. Little fool! She knew she
was making me a lot of trouble. She did this on purpose, I’ll wager.
But she’ll get paid back double for all she does. Just let her wait.”
Eugene was stamping up and down suggesting places to call, while his
wife with more and more agitated voice continued to call up numbers.
“I’m almost sure that operator is Jenny Lowe,” she said with her
hand over the mouthpiece of the telephone, “if it is she’ll tell it
everywhere that I’ve called all these numbers. She’s probably listening
in.”
“Jenny Lowe be hanged!” said Eugene. “We’ve got to find Joyce! Look at
the clock! It’s half past six. Call Aunt Whinnie’s.”
Nannette called Aunt Whinnie’s but got no answer, and while she was
still trying to get it Dorothea came panting back saying that Joyce
hadn’t been heard of anywhere, and the teacher and the superintendent
were just coming into the yard.
Eugene went frowning to the front door and disposed of the new
superintendent in short order saying that his cousin had been suddenly
called away and he was not sure how soon she would return. She might
be gone several days. He intimated that she had gone to visit a sick
relative, but when the young man got out his pencil and note book and
asked for her address he replied vaguely that he was not quite sure
whether she would remain more than a few hours where she had gone
and she might make several visits before her return. But the young
superintendent was not one who was easily baffled and asked for all
the addresses, whereupon Eugene was put to the trouble of making up
an address. It was rather hard on him for he had been brought up not
to tell lies, and he always tried to avoid deliberate ones, but this
time he felt he was in a bad corner and had to get out somehow. The
hand of his watch said a quarter to seven, and he must get rid of these
callers. What in Sam Hill did this young upstart want of Joyce anyway?
But the young upstart turned gravely away without imparting his
business, and Eugene shut the door with unnecessary slamming, and went
back to his wife:
“We’ll just have to go over to the Judge’s and do the best we can. We’d
better fix up some story about Joyce. Perhaps we can get around the
old man. I’ll tell you, we’ve had an offer for the house and we want
to close with it right away. Man going to Europe and wants to get this
property fixed up for a relative to live in--How’ll that do? Then we
can find a purchaser and get this house off our hands. I’d rather go
back to Chicago anyway, wouldn’t you, and get out of this rotten town
where everybody’s nose is in your business, and the minister thinks he
owns the earth, and can boss it? I’d like to know what business of his
it was to come after Joyce anyway? Doesn’t he think we can take care of
our own relatives without his intervention.”
At the door a small girl with tangled curls and big blue eyes presented
a note which she said was to be given to Miss Joyce and “not to nobody
else,” and which she steadily refused to surrender even for a glimpse
until Miss Joyce should be forthcoming. There was something racially
strong and characterful in the very swing of her little gingham
petticoats as she swung sturdily down the front path and out the gate
with the note still clasped to her bosom. Eugene called Dorothea to
the front window to identify her, and Miss Dorothea lifted her nose
contemptuously:
“Oh, that’s Darcy Sherwood’s niece, Lib Knox. She’s a tomboy. She can
throw mud just like the boys, and once she tied a string across the
sidewalk and tripped our teacher and she fell flat, because our teacher
told her she was too dirty to come in the school yard. She’s only six
but she’s awful bad!”
Dorothea said it virtuously, and licked her lips to hide the jelly she
had been eating out of a new tumbler she had just opened.
Darcy Sherwood! What had Darcy Sherwood to do with Joyce? Could that
have been Darcy’s voice over the phone that morning?
Eugene was silent and thoughtful during their walk to Judge Peterson’s
and strode so fast that Nannette could scarcely keep pace with him. As
they waited after ringing the old-fashioned door bell he looked down
frowning and admonished his wife:
“Now, don’t you be a fool and spill the beans.”
They were ushered into the Judge’s room where he lay propped up by
pillows in a great old sleigh bed, with his wife on one side fanning
him gently, and his son sitting by the window with some papers in
his hands, but as soon as they were seated the Judge’s eyes looked
toward the door restlessly, and his big voice which had lost none of
its brusqueness with his illness, although it quavered a little with
weakness, asked:
“Where’s Joyce? Didn’t you bring the little girl?”
Nannette looked frightened and turned toward her husband to take the
initiative and Eugene hastened to explain that Joyce hadn’t been
feeling well since the funeral and they had sent her away on a little
trip to relatives to get rested after the shock of her aunt’s death.
The kind, rugged old face looked disappointed, and his head sank back a
little farther on the pillows:
“H’m! Then there’s nothing doing,” he said as if the matter were
finished, “Dan, I thought I told you to tell ’em it was no use their
coming without Joyce.”
“I did, Father. I thought I made it plain.”
“Yes, Judge, he told me, but I felt that if you understood the matter
you would feel it wasn’t necessary to wait for the formality of Joyce
being here. She doesn’t know much about business anyway and would
naturally leave everything to me.”
“H’m!”
The Judge eyed the younger man thoughtfully, keenly, but said nothing
more than that.
“You see,” Eugene hurried on blandly, “it’s about the house I’m
especially in a hurry. We can’t do anything till the business is
settled up of course, but I’ve had an offer for the house, an unusually
good offer. The man wants to pay cash and get possession right away.
It’s a man I met in the city in business relations, and he’s going to
Europe and wants to leave his family here all safely fixed before he
has to leave. Every day counts with him, and he’s especially anxious to
get this house, and is willing to pay a good price if he can get the
thing settled up at once. I thought perhaps you could put the matter
through tonight for me so I could take advantage of this deal.”
“H’m! Does Joyce want to sell?” questioned the old man from his
pillows, “Because if she does you better wire her to come on.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what Joyce has to do with it,” fumed Eugene. “It
was my mother’s house wasn’t it? Naturally I--”
But the old man’s deep voice boomed out in stern and sudden
interruption:
“Joyce has a great deal to do with it. The house belongs to Joyce.”
Eugene arose excitedly, his face growing suddenly very red, his voice
raised far beyond the sick room quality:
“I don’t believe a word of it!” he shouted. “That’s a rank lie! My
mother--!”
But Dan Peterson stood suddenly beside him saying in a quiet voice:
“That will be all this evening, Mr. Massey. Step this way please,” and
Eugene found his arm grasped like a vise and himself propelled rapidly
out of the room with Nannette in a frightened patter coming behind and
some one inside the room shut the door. Afterwards in remembering, it
seemed that he had heard a sound something like a chuckle from the
region of the bed. It made his blood boil hotly when he thought of it.
Of course there had been nothing to laugh at and yet, he felt sure the
old Judge had laughed. There must be something--he must find Joyce at
once.
They discussed it a long time after they got home and Eugene had got
done scolding his wife for having been the cause of Joyce’s leaving.
Eugene wanted to get a detective at once and find Joyce. He was
frantic. He couldn’t stand the night through with this matter of the
house facing him. He even had the telephone in his hand to call up a
detective bureau in the city, but Nannette grappled with him for it,
and pleaded with him to be reasonable for once.
“Just as soon as you get a detective the whole thing will be out, and
everybody will be talking. You’ll have the whole town arrayed against
us, and then where will we be? Joyce may come back tomorrow, and then
there won’t be any need to tell any one. And anyhow you could have
called her back when she first went if you had done what I told you, it
was you that scolded her for burning the electric light so late last
night you remember.”
“It was you that wore her clothes to the city wasn’t it? It was you
that taunted her for being in a menial position! and wouldn’t hear to
her going to those examinations that she set so much store by, wasn’t
it?”--responded he.
Into the midst of this loud altercation there came a tap on the side
door close to which Eugene was sitting. It was so startling for any one
to come to that door at that time of night that Eugene jumped and sat
up. Both were absolutely still for a quarter of a second. Nannette even
turned a little white as she stared toward the door which had four
latticed panes of glass and was lightly draped in open fish net.
Nannette recovered first.
“There she is, I suppose,” she said in a low whisper with lips that
scarcely moved, for she was conscious that she must be under the eye of
whoever was outside. “For pity’s sake don’t rave now and send her off
again. And don’t you give in either. She needs a lesson after acting
like this.”
She arose and gathered up her hat and wrap which were lying where she
had thrown them when she came in from Judge Peterson’s. Her action
seemed to bring Eugene to his senses. He got up and went to the door,
opening it but a few inches and looking out with an air of affront.
But Joyce was not outside, as he had half made up his mind she would
be. A man stood there in the darkness, a stranger he seemed to be at
first glimpse, tall, well built, of almost haughty bearing--a thing
Eugene could never tolerate in any man but himself. For a moment they
stood gazing at one another. It was almost as if the man outside were
sizing up the man who stood against the light. Then Eugene remarked
acridly:
“Well, what do you want?” giving the door the least bit of an impatient
jerk as if he were about to close it. The visitor must speak quickly.
There was perfect courtesy in the voice that replied:
“Mr. Massey? Sherwood’s my name. I’d like to have a few words with you.”
There was a grave assurance about the young man’s tone that irritated
Eugene. Then he reflected that the man might have some news concerning
Joyce and it would be as well to hear him through.
“Well, if you don’t take too long,” he said curtly, stepping out to the
porch and drawing the door to after him. “We were just about to retire.
I suppose you’re aware it’s rather late for callers.”
The young man lifted his hat with a grave smile that showed a row of
irritatingly beautiful teeth, and gave him somehow the appearance of
great advantage, but instead of telling his errand he put his hand out
and pushed open the door saying pleasantly, and almost with an air of
authority:
“We’ll just go inside if you don’t mind,” and was in before Eugene
could resent his action. This was most extraordinary behaviour and
Eugene half ready to eject him for his presumption, was yet somehow
compelled to follow him.
It was quite evident as they entered that the visitor had intended to
come inside for a purpose, for he did not hide the fact that he was
taking in the whole sitting room with a quick keen glance, and even the
hall and stairs and the living room beyond. He bowed deferentially to
Nannette as she slid back into the room, curiosity in every line of her
face.
Seen in the light of the room his face was extremely handsome, with
an easy carelessness upon it that showed he made no merit of his
comeliness, and cared little for impressions. Yet when he smiled even
an enemy must needs listen:
“I came to see whether Joyce Radway has come home yet?”
The tone demanded a straightforward answer, in fact it was like a
command, as of one who had the right to know. Eugene stiffened,
resentfully:
“She has not,” he answered. “I believe I told you that over the phone a
little while ago.”
“You did,” said Sherwood. “I came to make sure.”
He gave a glance about that had a sense of listening in it.
“Indeed!” bristled Eugene.
“When did she go away, just what time?”
“What business of yours is that?”
“It isn’t any of my business. I’m making it mine. What time?”
“Well, find out if you can. I don’t answer impertinent questions.”
Eugene was white with anger. He would have liked to have put this
intruder out, only the man was nearly twice his size.
“That’s what I intend to do!” answered the visitor taking a step into
the room where he could look well through the hall and living room
without effort. There was a grim set look about his face that meant
business, and yet he turned to Nannette with that winning smile he
could flash forth suddenly like the sun coming out from behind a cloud:
“Mrs. Massey, I’m not a bandit, and I’m not as impertinent as your
husband seems to think, although I may be a trifle unconventional, but
it is necessary for me to find out when Joyce Radway left this house
and I mean to do so. If you’ll excuse me I’ll just step upstairs and
speak to your son a minute. Don’t trouble yourself to lead the way.
I’ll find him all right--”
He took one swift stride into the hall, before Eugene realized what
he was doing and bustled irately to stop him. But the stranger did not
need to go far, for Junior in bare feet and pajamas was hanging over
the balustrade, his ears alert for the family scene.
“Hello, Buddie,” the young man said in a tone he might have used to an
older pal.
Junior straightened up involuntarily and a gleam came into his eye. He
threw one leg over the balustrade and balanced grinning, emitting a low
“’ello!” It was plain that he was both pleased and embarrassed.
“Still interested in that baseball bat of mine, are you Kid?”
“Sure!” responded Junior coming down to the steps again and sticking
his tongue in his cheek expectantly.
“Well, how about that package you were to deliver? Did you deliver it
last night?”
Junior hung his head, and wriggled on one bare toe.
“Couldn’t,” he murmured in a low voice. “She went away ’fore I had the
chance. She didn’t come back yet.”
“That’s all right, son,” said the young man pleasantly, “That’s all I
want to know. May I trouble you for the package?”
“I got it hid.”
“Get it, please!”
“Junior!” broke forth Nannette’s indignant voice, “come here to me this
instant.”
But Junior’s bare heels were flying up the stairs, and before his
mother could pursue him he returned with a small indiscriminate bundle
which he thrust over the balustrade where it disappeared inside the
visitor’s coat.
“All right, Buddie, the bat is yours when you call for it tomorrow. At
the old stand. You know.”
“Aw’right!” answered Junior with delight in his eyes. It was plain that
his mother was nowhere in his vision while this hero was in sight.
The young man turned and walked swiftly back through the sitting room
past the angry father and mother and over to the door. With the door
knob firmly grasped in his hand he turned once more and faced his host:
“I happened to see Miss Radway alone on a lonely road quite late last
night and was interested to know if she reached home in safety. I
thought perhaps we might work together to find her if there was any
necessity. But since you do not care to coöperate I will wish you good
evening.”
The young man flashed a distant smile and opening the door was gone,
before the man and woman realized what he was about to do.
For an instant they looked at each other speechless. Then Nannette
broke forth:
“You ought to have asked him where he saw her! Go after him quick!
Don’t let him get away!”
Stung into action Eugene opened the door and called into the night:
“Oh, I say! Come here! Wait a minute!”
But his words seemed to float out on emptiness.
Eugene stood in the door for a moment listening, but there seemed to be
no echo of footsteps. Yet it was scarcely a second since the visitor
had stood inside the door. Where could he have gone? It was almost
uncanny.
Nannette came and looked out the door, and Eugene hurried down the
walk calling out again, but no answer came, and his own voice seemed to
mock him. He looked up and down the street, but saw no one. He walked
around the house, and back to the gate again. There was no sound of
automobile in the quiet moonlit street. Everybody had gone to bed and
the lights were out. Strange! How could the man have disappeared?
“Junior! Who was that man?” screamed Nannette remembering and rushing
back into the house. But Junior had a realizing sense of his disloyalty
to his family, and had fled to his bed with the clothes tucked tightly
around his ears, and his eyes screwed shut as if in deep slumber. When
rudely shaken into being he yawned reprovingly and asked, “What man?”
Nannette brought him at last to a proper appreciation of the necessity
and he nonchalantly replied, “Oh, him? He’s our coach, Darce Sherwood.
You just oughta see him pitch a ball. He’s some cracker-jack pitcher.”
Questioned further concerning the package he said he guessed some old
woman had sent it to Joyce. He guessed it was some seeds or “sumpin” to
put on Grandma’s grave.
The mother and father looked at one another completely puzzled.
“He certainly had no right to go away that way without telling me where
he saw Joyce,” declared Eugene angrily. “Now I suppose I shall have
to go out and find him. The insolent sucker! He thought he had me in
a hole. I _won’t_ go after him. Let him go to the dogs. Probably he
never saw Joyce at all. What difference does it make if he did? Serves
her right if she gets in trouble. I’m not going to hunt him up that’s
certain. I’ll get a detective. What’s he got to do with Joyce anyhow
I’d like to know?”
“Then everybody’ll find out--” wailed Nannette.
“What’s the difference if they do? They’ll find out if she doesn’t come
back at all, won’t they? You haven’t a brain cell working. You’re just
_like_ a woman--!”
“But Gene, why don’t you see that this man is the only clue you have to
where she was last seen?”
“Well, what if he is? Do you think I’m going crawling to a man that
entered my house that way--? Say! That’s an idea! I’ll have him
arrested for house breaking. He came into my house against my express
command. I told him we were retiring. I told him I would talk to him
outside. But he just opened the door and walked in and said we would
talk inside. I’ll call up the police and have him arrested before he
gets home, that’s what I’ll do. Then we’ll tell him we’ll release him
when he tells where Joyce is. Perhaps he’s got her kidnapped somewhere.
Perhaps he knows more than he’s willing to tell--!”
But while they were discussing it Darcy Sherwood was striding over the
meadows and vaulting the fences back of their house, till he reached
the public highway along which Joyce had walked the evening before.