THE PRISONER IN THE TOWER
Pud and Tim shared a big four-poster bed in the room always occupied
by the former when, once a year, he accompanied his parents to
Great-Aunt Sabrina’s. This was at the back of the house, to the left,
the smallest of the rooms on the second floor. Opposite, across the
broad hall that ran from front to back, was a huge bathroom, containing
an old-fashioned zinc tub boxed in walnut paneling, and cutting off
a corner of it was a stairway leading down to the kitchen. Harmon
was given a bed made of two thick comforters from the maid’s room,
doubled lengthwise and laid on the floor. A single blanket answered for
covering.
As the day had been, on the whole, fairly strenuous, all hands were
fast asleep before ten. Pud, though, didn’t slumber very peacefully. He
had overindulged in the preserved ginger, I think. At all events, while
Tim, having once fallen asleep, scarcely moved, Pud thrashed about a
good deal and awoke more than once to the sound of Harmon’s gurgling
respirations and the gentle, persistent patter of the rain outside.
They had left the door open, such being their custom when at home, and
it was when Pud had returned to full consciousness for the second or,
possibly, third time that he heard a sound that could be attributed
neither to Harmon nor the rain.
The sound came from somewhere below and suggested to the curious
listener the opening of a stubborn drawer containing some metallic
contents that rattled together. His first thought was, of course, that
Aunt Sabrina had returned home, and the thought was accompanied by an
unpleasant sinking sensation. It also had the effect of bringing him
very wide awake. For a minute he lay in bed and considered a course
of action. It might be that, if he did nothing at all, his presence,
and that of his companions, would remain unsuspected until morning. On
the other hand, it was more probable that Aunt Sabrina’s sharp eyes
would see that things were not just as she had left them, or that the
maid would miss the comforters and blanket and institute a search for
them. On the whole, as little as the plan appealed to him, Pud decided
finally that right now was the time to appear and explain. Of course,
Aunt Sabrina would look very fearsome and probably have quite a lot
to say about boys with wet feet dirtying up her floors and helping
themselves to her victuals and――
Right there Pud sat up in bed very suddenly, staring amazedly into the
gray darkness. Why, it couldn’t be Aunt Sabrina! It just _couldn’t_ be
Aunt Sabrina for the simple reason that he had locked the front door
on the inside and the big iron key still remained where he had turned
it! And without the key, how could Aunt Sabrina have got in? He simply
couldn’t imagine either Lydia, the middle-aged maid and companion, or
Aunt Sabrina forcing a window and climbing over the ledge! But if it
wasn’t Aunt Sabrina stirring quietly about downstairs, who could it be?
His heart beat faster while he strained his ears. For a long moment
he heard nothing, and he was just about to tell himself with vast
relief that he had imagined the previous sounds when they came again.
Resisting the impulse to awaken Tim, he crept out of the big bed and
made his way noiselessly to the door. From below, seemingly from the
dining-room, came the tinkle of metal and the creak of a board.
‘_Robbers!_’ thought Pud.
His first impulse was to return and awaken Tim and Harmon, his second
to make certain that he was right. He would look an awful fool if he
waked the others up and then discovered that the suspicious sounds
had been made by――well, some perfectly innocent thing such as a cat!
After a moment of hesitation he emerged into the hall. The stairway
was a long distance, but he reached the railing finally and, guiding
himself by it, crept on until he could crane his head over it and
bring the dining-room door into his field of vision. The stairs and
the hall below were dark, but beyond the open door of the dining-room
there was light. It was a very weak light and Pud guessed that it came
from a small electric torch. While he gazed it vanished entirely. Then
it reappeared, stronger this time, as though it was focused closer
to the door into the hall. There was a shuffling, dragging sound and
the faint clink of metal once more, as though muffled by cloth. Then,
with startling effect on the watcher, the light fell on the edge of
the doorway and traveled past into the hall, illumining it with faint,
white radiance.
Pud retreated swiftly to the room. There, a hand on the doorknob, he
thought hard. What was going on downstairs was quite plain to him.
Some one was stealing Aunt Sabrina’s silver! Aunt Sabrina thought a
good deal of her silver, for much of it had belonged in her family for
several generations, and she would, Pud knew, be terribly grieved if
she lost it. Therefore she mustn’t lose it. Some way he must circumvent
the robber. The telephone, an old-style wall affair, was in the lower
hall and not two yards from the dining-room. Plainly that offered no
solution. Pud considered a sortie in force, but he remembered that
burglars carried weapons. Even if they managed to frighten the burglar,
he would probably take his booty with him. Further planning was
interrupted by the soft sound of feet on the stairs, and Pud retired
inside his door and watched breathlessly through a half-inch crack.
The intruder mounted the stairs unhurriedly, with only an occasional
inquiring flash of the diminutive torch. He made very little noise,
but, on the other hand, did not seem particularly fearful of being
heard. In short, he gave Pud the impression of one not in the least
concerned with the possible presence of other persons in the house,
and so, Pud reasoned, he had learned of Aunt Sabrina’s absence and was
proceeding under the assumption that he was perfectly safe and could
take all the time he wanted. At the head of the stairs, he swept the
light about him, keeping, as always, the rays close to the floor, and
in that instant Pud, peering through the narrow aperture in the door,
saw him for the first time.
To be more exact, what Pud saw was the silhouette of a man’s form, a
form apparently rather small and slim and not nearly so formidable as
imagination had pictured it. Then the light went out again and the form
melted into the darkness. Light footsteps trod the carpet and a door
squeaked faintly. The burglar had gone into Aunt Sabrina’s room, on
the front of the house. Pud didn’t believe the fellow would find much
of value in there, and evidently he didn’t, for he was out again very
soon, his coming indicated by another quick flare of the torch. Across
the hall was an empty chamber, known as the ‘best room.’ That held the
burglar’s attention even a shorter time, and from there he came back,
past the head of the stairway and disappeared into the maid’s room.
Meanwhile Pud was thinking up plans and discarding them rapidly;
to lock the door and somehow get to the ground from the window and
alarm the neighbors; to shout for help from the same window; to get
downstairs by the back passage, the door to which was almost opposite,
take possession of the burglar’s loot and make off with it before
the latter could follow. But none of these schemes promised well.
Behind him was the peaceful sound of Tim’s breathing and the louder
respirations of Harmon. Pud had time for a brief thought of their
surprise when they awoke and learned of what had been happening; and
then he hoped hard that they wouldn’t awake just yet, for the least
sound from them would, if heard by the midnight visitor, either send
that person scuttling away with his booty or――well, Pud didn’t like to
dwell on the alternative. Burglars, he believed, were dreadfully fond
of shooting holes in persons who interfered with their plans! But Pud
had assured himself that the key was on the inside of the lock and he
was rather certain that he could get that door closed and that key
turned in mighty quick time when the right moment came.
Across the hall from the maid’s room and directly opposite was the door
giving onto the stairway that led to The Tower. Next to it was the door
of a second spare room. Then, toward the back of the house, were the
bathroom door, wide open at present, and, next, the door to the kitchen
stairway, closed. It was fair to assume that the burglar meant to
make a thorough inspection of the premises, and that sooner or later,
probably last of all, he would want to know what was in the room behind
whose door Pud stood on guard. When that happened――well, Pud didn’t
know just what he would do then, but meanwhile he had thought of a plan!
Its success depended on two things; whether the burglar proved curious
enough to want to know what lay at the top of The Tower stairway and
whether the key of the stairway door was on the inside or out. That
there was a key Pud knew for a fact. His heart beat a little faster
as the light showed once more for an instant and the burglar, having
made a thorough and, Pud hoped, profitless search of Lydia’s room,
emerged again into the hall. Then the light traveled along the stairway
spindles, swept the edge of the carpet and crept upward along the white
panels of The Tower door. And then it went out, but not before Pud had
seen, with intense satisfaction, the key!
In the succeeding darkness there came the soft, padding sound of the
man’s feet on the carpet and then the faint click of the latch. Again
the light flared. The burglar was in the open doorway and the rays of
the torch were exploring the stairs that led upward. A long moment
passed. Then darkness fell once more and Pud’s heart sank. His plan had
failed! He waited for the sound of the man’s steps again, but there
was only silence out there. Uneasily, Pud’s hand tightened on the knob
and he stood prepared to close and lock the door. But at that moment a
sound came to him that brought a thrill of renewed hope, the sound of a
stumbling step on the bare stairs! Momentarily The Tower doorway showed
lighter against the gloom of the hall and Pud widened the aperture of
his own door and craned his head out. Now he could hear unmistakably
the creaking of the burglar’s feet on The Tower stairs. Pud crept out
into the darkness. Once more there was a dim light across the way. The
man had reached the little landing and was making the turn.
Pud took a long, deep breath and crept down the hall toward The Tower
door. He reached it, pulled it slowly toward him. From above came the
complaining of the stair treads, then silence. Pud could imagine the
man’s disgust as he swept his light over the square emptiness of that
chamber, and something very close to a chuckle mingled with the click
of the latch as it slipped into place. Swiftly then Pud’s fingers flew
to the key. Perhaps it had been unused so long that it had forgotten
how to turn, for it resisted his efforts stubbornly. He put all his
strength against it unavailingly, and his heart sank. Beyond the door
were faint creakings. The burglar was coming back down the stairs!
Caution urged Pud to flight, but he was stubborn, too, and, getting a
new grasp on the key and putting the fingers of his left hand about the
knuckles of his right, he made a final and desperate effort. There was
a loud protest from the unwilling key, but it turned!
Then Pud ran!
Back at the door of his own room he paused and listened. There was no
sound for a long moment save the thumping of his own heart. Then the
knob of The Tower door was gently turned. A second silence. Then there
was a straining, creaking noise as the imprisoned man put his weight
against the door. But Aunt Sabrina’s house had been built in the days
when doors were made strong and thick and heavy, and for the time, at
least, Pud had no fear of its yielding. With a bound, Pud was pulling
the blanket from Tim and prodding him into wakefulness, and after that
many things happened with confusing rapidity.
Lights flared upstairs and down. Pud spoke breathlessly to a sleepy
telephone operator and, after what seemed an interminable time, to a
gruff-voiced police sergeant. Tim and Harmon, close to The Tower door,
talked to each other in deep, bass voices designed to impress the
burglar with the fact that his escape in that direction was barred by
at least two resolute men. As Pud left the telephone to light the gas
in the dining-room and rescue Aunt Sabrina’s silver, he heard Harmon
saying in loud tones that seemed to come from his boots――or that would
have come from his boots had he worn any: ‘I’s sure cravin’ to use this
here ol’ resolver, Mister Daley. I ain’ had me a chance to shoot it
off for a long time!’ And then came Tim’s voice, deep and husky: ‘And
I’d certainly like to use this automatic of mine, Mister Johnson!’
Pud found what he expected to find, a burlap bag filled with Aunt
Sabrina’s smaller silver and about all the larger pieces. Some of the
latter had not been molested, and these, as Pud guessed, were only
silver-plated. The locked drawers of the big, old-fashioned mahogany
sideboard had been forced, and Pud reflected that for the burglar’s
sake he hoped the latter would not be around when Aunt Sabrina viewed
the chipped and cracked edges of the wood! To be on the safe side,
he dragged the bag to a closet and turned the key on it. Then he ran
upstairs again and relieved Tim while the latter donned the rest of his
clothes. They were all fully dressed by the time the police arrived,
and Pud admitted them somewhat impressively through the front door,
while Tim and Harmon leaned over the upstairs balusters and stared down
enthralled.
That the burglar had attempted to descend from his prison by the roof
was evident later from the fact that one of The Tower windows was
found open. Probably his courage had failed him as soon as he had set
foot on the slippery, rain-filmed shingles and he had decided to face
trial rather than risk a broken neck. At all events, when they opened
The Tower door and went cautiously up, four burly officers with drawn
revolvers, there he sat on the top step, a rather hungry-looking,
undersized little rat of a man, calmly awaiting them.
‘Ho,’ said the officer in command of the force, ‘it’s only “Slim”
Towle! Come on down, Slim, and we’ll give you a ride.’
So Slim came down docilely, looking in fact, or so Pud thought,
rather relieved, and one of the men went through his pockets very
carefully and took out quite a number of interesting articles including
a black-jack, a small nickeled pocket torch, and one or two other
personal articles――but no revolver!――and a large collection of small
trinkets picked up during his visit. There was, for instance, Aunt
Sabrina’s gold locket that held a strand of braided brown hair, a
tortoise-shell comb, a silver-and-pearl paper-cutter, Lydia’s bar-pin
set with imitation emeralds, a gold hairpin, a fine gold chain, and a
single silver cuff-link. All of which articles, announced the police,
would have to be taken to Headquarters and there claimed by their
owners. Then ‘Slim’ Towle, looking a bit bored and rather weary, went
down the stairs between two of the officers and out the front door.
The officer in charge of operations――a lieutenant, Pud thought――viewed
the burlap bag and its contents, nodded and said:
‘Had a pretty good haul there. Well, if folks will leave their silver
lying around loose, they’ll lose it sooner or later.’ Then he turned
suddenly and viewed the three lads with stern gaze. ‘Now,’ he asked
disconcertingly, ‘who are you and what are you doing here?’
Pud had to make rather a long story of it, but in the end the officer
went off without arresting any of them for complicity in the crime and
they watched him climb into the patrol wagon with vast relief. By that
time the eastern sky was graying and the rain, having subsided first
to a drizzle, had ceased entirely. Harmon lighted a fire in the stove
again and prepared breakfast from what remained in the larder while
Pud and Tim returned upstairs and, as best they could, tidied up. Tim
was inclined to be a bit disgruntled and peevish because Pud had not
awakened him sooner and allowed him to share in the excitement from
the first, but Pud explained and excused until Tim grudgingly forgave
him. Harmon’s skill as a cook was not so apparent this morning, since
recent events had left him in a highly excited state, but they made out
a satisfactory breakfast of coffee, eggs, and toast. Pud closed the
outside blinds across the window in the dining-room at which ‘Slim’
Towle had made his entrance by removing a pane of glass, and finally
announced that he was ready to leave. But at the last instant he
bethought him of something and reëntered the house, to be gone several
minutes. During his absence he wrote a note to Aunt Sabrina and left
it leaning against the coffee-urn on the sideboard where she could not
fail to find it. The note was as follows:
DEAR AUNT:
We came to see you, but you were not home so we stayed because
it was raining and lightning. We slept in the back room and did
not hurt anything I hope, and we took some food as we were very
hungry. I caught the burglar, and everything he was going to
take is in the bag in the closet except some jewelry of yours
and Lydia, and the policeman said you would have to go to the
police station and claim it. We had a very enjoyable visit, but
were sorry not to see you. Good-bye.
Your affectionate nephew,
ANSON PUDDLESTONE PRINGLE, JR.
Then Pud locked the front door and hid the key under the lowest step
and, with Tim at his side and Harmon padding along behind, set forth
under the first weak rays of the sun to find the Moorehouse Avenue car
line.