A FIGURE IN THE NIGHT
"Polly," a muffled voice murmured in so low a tone that the sound was
scarcely audible. Then a cold hand was slid beneath the bed clothes,
clasping a warm, relaxed one and pressing it with sudden intensity.
"Betty, did you call me?" Polly O'Neill inquired, turning over sleepily
and trying to pierce the darkness so as to get a view of her companion.
Now that she was coming to her senses, she could feel Betty's body
straining close up against her own and her lips almost touching her ear.
It was between two and three o'clock in the morning and the two friends
had been sleeping together in Betty Ashton's old-fashioned four-post
bed, hung with blue curtains that opened only for a space of several
feet in the center of the two sides. The room was dark and cold, for
there was no light burning and the sky outside held the blackness that
often precedes the dawn. A window was open, letting in sudden gusts of
freezing air.
"You aren't ill, are you?" Polly was about to ask when the other girl's
fingers closed over her mouth.
"Don't speak and don't stir," Betty whispered, still in almost
noiseless tones. "Just listen for a moment. Try and not be
frightened, but do you think you can hear any one moving about in this
room?"
For the first instant Polly felt a decided inclination to laugh. What
an absurd suggestion Betty was making! She must have been asleep and
dreamed something that had frightened her. It was rather to be
expected, however, after the shock of her accident at the cabin.
Therefore it would be best to gratify her fancy; and Polly set herself
to listening dutifully.
Then Polly herself started, only to feel once more the other girl's
restraining clasp. But the sound she had heard was only the banging of
the blind against the window. Nevertheless with the quick Irish
sensitiveness to impressions, to subtle suggestions, she was beginning
to have a terrifying consciousness of some other person in their
bedroom than herself and Betty. And yet she had so far heard nothing,
seen nothing.
"Look through the opening in the curtain toward the farthest end of the
room--there by the big closet door," Betty whispered. "Be perfectly
still, for I am quite sure that the figure has passed entirely around
the room twice as though it were groping for something. I can't see, I
can only hear it, and once I felt sure that a hand touched our bed."
Shadowy, terrifyingly silent, an indistinct outline was discernible
along the opposite wall and a hand moving slowly up and down it as if
searching for something. Could it be for the door of the closet only a
few feet away?
Both girls for the moment were too frightened or too surprised to stir
or to call out. The idea of jumping suddenly from the bed and running
toward the intruder had occurred to Betty, who was the more widely
awake, although she had confessed to herself that she was neither brave
nor foolish enough to do it. For the figure was too mysterious, too
uncertain, and whether man or woman, boy or girl, she had no
conception. Why, it was only the fact of the hand which proved that it
was even human!
Then both girls lay rigid once more, with not a muscle moving, scarcely
believing that they breathed. For the form was again flitting down the
length of the room, possibly toward their bed. The next second and it
had passed through Betty's evidently unlatched door and vanished
noiselessly into the hall.
Polly was sleeping on the outside of the bed, so it was she who first
leaped upon the floor, turning on the electric light until the room was
brilliantly illuminated.
"You are not to stir until I can go along with you," Betty protested,
following her immediately. And then both girls lost a moment of time
in putting on their dressing gowns, for the night was bitterly cold.
"Shall we call somebody first?" Polly inquired, all at once in the
lighted room feeling uncertain as to whether the experience through
which they had lately passed had been a real one. Nothing in their
room was changed in the least since their going to bed. There were
Betty's clothes on one chair and her own upon another. There was the
book she had been reading left open upon the desk, and Betty's
unfinished letter to Esther. Had they both gone suddenly mad?
But Betty had lighted a candle; so Polly followed until they were able
to light the gas in the second story hall.
There was no one about. All the other bedroom doors were safely closed
and the Professor was apparently snoring hoarsely.
"Shall we call your mother or wake up anybody?" Polly questioned. But
Betty shook her head. She looked pale, and her eyes were uncomfortably
mystified. Otherwise she appeared perfectly self-controlled.
"No, let us not call anybody and not mention our alarm until morning.
If our visitor was a burglar, he knows that we are aware of his
presence and so won't try any more performances tonight. And if it
wasn't a burglar, but a ghost, why, there is no use frightening mother
to death and we will only get laughed at by the others. It seems queer
to me for either a ghost or a burglar to come into a house so filled
with people. If you don't mind, Polly, let us just go on back to bed
and leave the light burning for our consolation. We had both better
try to sleep."
Sleep, however, after their few moments of terror and in the face of
the enigma of their unexplained visitor, was impossible. Also the
light in the bedroom did not induce slumber, although both girls found
it agreeable. Their door leading out into the corridor was now
securely latched, notwithstanding that Betty was not in the habit of
locking it.
"Betty," Polly asked after a few moments of silence, when the two
friends were back again in bed with their arms clasped close about each
other, "the closet there at the end of your room--is it one where
either you or your mother keep your clothes?"
"No," the other girl repeated thoughtfully. "I had not thought of
that. But it only makes things queerer than ever. For the closet is a
particularly large one and has always been stored with rubbish. It has
an old trunk in it and some pictures and boxes. I don't think there is
anything of value, though I don't know exactly what is in the trunk, or
the boxes either for that matter. I have often meant to clear the
place out, but I have never needed the space and mother pokes around in
it sometimes. It is ridiculous to suppose that a burglar would take an
interest in old trash, when there are so many other valuable things
about. Besides, suppose there should happen to be a few treasures in
one of the boxes or the trunk, nobody could know about it when I don't.
Oh dear, I wish it were morning!"
Betty sighed deeply, tumbling about restlessly in a fashion that made
her a very undesirable bed companion. And yet Polly, who was
ordinarily nervous from the slightest movement, made no protest. And
she said nothing more for some time, although it was self-evident that
she was not growing sleepy. Her rather oddly shaped blue eyes had a
far-away, almost uncanny light in them, that somehow added to Betty's
discomfort.
"Look here, Polly O'Neill," she protested, giving her arm an
affectionate squeeze, "please don't be wishing a ghost upon us. I know
you have always believed in Irish fairies and elves and hobgoblins and
the like, and used to fuss with poor Mollie and me outrageously because
we couldn't or wouldn't see them. But tonight--Oh, well, even Irish
ghosts don't come strolling into one's bedroom. They at least have the
courtesy to stay in churchyards and in haunted ruins."
"Yes, but isn't this the haunted room of this house, Betty?" Polly
inquired in a faintly teasing voice, which yet held a note of serious
questioning in it.
And immediately Betty's face grew white and frightened, far more so
than at any moment before during their adventure, so that the other
girl was instantly regretful of her speech.
"Polly O'Neill," two firm hands next took hold on Polly's thin
shoulders, turning her deliberately over in bed so that she was forced
to face her questioner, "ever since I can remember there has been some
mystery or other connected with this old room. Of course it is not
haunted. I suppose sensible people don't believe in ghosts, though I
don't see why not believing makes them fail to exist. But the room may
have had a tragedy of some kind take place in it, something that both
mother and Dick find it painful to mention or recall. I told you that
mother would not explain her feeling to me when I insisted upon
knowing. However, I don't think my family has the right to keep a
secret from me. I am nearly grown now and no longer the kind of girl I
used to be. So see here, Polly. Look me directly in the eyes.
Oftentimes outsiders hear things first. Have you ever heard of a
sorrow or accident, or even something worse, that may have occurred in
this house or even in this room when I was too little a girl to
understand or remember it? You must tell me the truth."
Polly shook her head, devoutly thankful at the moment for her own lack
of information. With Betty's beautiful, honest gray eyes searching her
own, with her lips trembling and her cheeks flushed with the fervor of
her desire, her friend would have found deceiving her extremely
difficult. Yet it was more agreeable to change the subject of their
talk, even though it continued upon dangerous grounds.
"No, Betty, I was not thinking of ghosts nor of the fact that you have
always been absurdly curious about the mystery of this room. I was
thinking of something altogether different--of a thief, in fact--and I
was wondering whether you would be angry or hurt or both if I mention
something to you?" Polly returned.
Betty kissed her friend's thin cheek, wishing at the same instant that
it would grow more rounded, now that Polly was presumably well. "You
don't usually mind making me angry, dear," she smiled. "And I don't
see why if you have a possible theory of a burglar that I should be
hurt. Do you think the figure we saw was a man's or a woman's?"
"I don't know," the other girl replied. "What I have been wondering is
just this: Has any one in this house ever come into this room with your
mother when she was rummaging in that old closet, to help her move the
furniture or lift things about?"
For a moment Betty frowned and then her face flamed crimson.
"You are not fair, Polly. You never have approved of his living here
or my being kind to him. And you have said half a dozen times that
there was no special point in my being particularly grateful to him,
since any one of our friends would have done just what he did, had they
been equally near me. But then of course that does not alter the fact.
Now just because _he_ has been in here to assist mother does not prove
anything, does not even make it fair to be suspicious."
Polly shrugged her shoulders. "I knew you would be angry, so I am
sorry I spoke. But you see our first meeting in the woods with the
young man when your safety box was almost stolen from you was a little
unfortunate. But I don't say that I suspect any one, either, and I
have no intention of not being fair. However, I do intend to keep on
the lookout. Now kiss me good morning, for I am going to turn out the
light. The gray dawn seems at last to be breaking and perhaps we may
both get a little sleep before breakfast time."