It was nearly seven when we got back to Grasslands. We alighted as
silent as we started, and I was following Miss Maitland into the hall,
Ferguson behind me, when she turned in the doorway and spoke. She had
orders that the servants must know nothing; she was to tell them that
the family would stay in town for a few days, and for me to be careful
what I said before them. Then, before I could answer, she glanced at
Ferguson and said good-by, her eyes just touching him for a moment and
passing, cold and weary, back to me. She’d wish me good-night, she was
going to her room and not coming down again—no, thanks, she’d take no
dinner, she was very tired. She didn’t need to say that. If I ever saw a
person dead beat and at the end of her string she was it.
Ferguson stood looking after her. I think for the moment he forgot me,
or maybe he wasn’t conscious of what his face showed. Some way or other
I didn’t like to look at him; it was as if I was spying on something I
had no right to see. So I turned away and dropped into one of the
balcony chairs, sunk down against the back and feeling limp as a rag.
Presently came his step and he was in front of me, his head bent down
with the hair hanging loose on his forehead, and his eyes like they were
hooks that would pull the words out of me:
"What happened up there at the Whitneys?"
"Mr. Ferguson," I answered solemn, "I’ve told you more than I ought
already. Is it the right thing for me to go on doing wrong?"
"Yes," he says, sharp and decided, "it’s exactly the right thing. Keep
on doing it and we’ll get somewhere."
I set my lips tight and looked past him at the lawn. He waited a minute
then said:
"I thought you agreed to trust me."
"There’s a good deal more to it now than there was then."
"All the more reason for telling me. Of course I can get all I want from
Mrs. Janney or either of the Whitneys; they don’t let ladylike scruples
stand in the way. But that means a trip to town and I’m not ready to
take it."
It was surprising how that young man could make you feel like a worm who
had a conscience in place of common sense.
"Have I got your word, sworn to on the Bible, if we had one here, not to
give her a hint of it?"
"Good Lord!" he groaned. "Don’t talk like the ingénue in a melodrama.
Let me see why the Whitneys think so much of you. You must have _some_
intelligence—give me a sample of it."
That settled it.
"Take a seat," I said. "You make me nervous staring at me like the lion
in the menagerie at the fat child."
He sat down and I told him—the whole business, what she had said, what
they had thought—everything. When I’d finished he rose up and, with his
hands burrowed deep in his pockets, began pacing up and down the
balcony. I didn’t give a peep, watching him cautious from under my
eyelids.
After a bit he said in a low voice:
"Preposterous—crazy! She had no more to do with it than you have."
"They think different."
"I’ve gathered that. And Price had nothing to do with it either."
It was all very well for him to stand by her, but to sweep Price off the
map! I couldn’t sit still and let him rave on.
"Price hadn’t? Take another guess. Price is the mainspring of it."
"I’ll leave guessing to you—it’s your business, and you appear to do it
very well."
"Say, drop me altogether. I’m only a paid servant. But you’ll have to
admit that Mr. Whitney and his son count pretty big in their line."
"Very big, Miss Rogers. But they’ve made a mistake this time—or possibly
been misled. The Janneys have never been fair to Price. They’re
prejudiced and they’ve branded the prejudice on. He isn’t an angel,
neither is he a rascal. He didn’t take his child, he never thought of
it, he couldn’t do it."
"Then who did?"
"That’s what I want to find out."
"Jerusalem!" I said, sitting up, feeling like the peaceful scene around
me was suddenly dark and strange. "You don’t think she’s _really_ been
kidnaped?"
"I can’t think anything else." He stopped in front of me, looking at me
hard and stern. "I’d like to find another solution but I’m unable to."
"But, gee-whizz!" I stared at him, all worried and mixed. "You can’t get
away from the facts. They’re all there—there’s hardly a break."
"I don’t admit that. This man and woman have got characters and records
that haven’t been considered—but even if you had a hole-proof case
against them I wouldn’t believe it."
"Oh, pshaw!" I said, simmering down, "you just believe what you want to.
I’ve seen people like that before."
"I daresay you have, I’m not a unique specimen in the human family. But
I’ll tell you what I am just at this juncture—the only one among you
that’s right." He drew back and gave a vengeful wag of his head at me.
"You’ve all gone off at half-cock—doing your best to ruin a man who’s
harmless and a girl who’s—who’s—" he stopped, and wheeled away from me.
"Tch—it makes me sick! Hate and anger and jealousy—that’s what’s at the
bottom of it. I can’t talk about it any longer—it’s too beastly.
Good-night!"
He turned on his heel, ran down the steps and over the grass, clearing
the terrace wall with a leap. I looked after him, fading into the early
night, disturbed and with a sort of cold heaviness in my heart. He was
no fool—suppose what he thought was true? Suppose that dear child whom
I’d grown to love—but, rubbish! I wouldn’t think of it. It was easy to
account for the way he felt. Every little movement has a meaning of its
own—and the meaning in all his little movements was love. He had it bad,
poor chap, out on him like the measles, and while you have to be gentle
with the sick you don’t pay much attention to what they say.
That was a dreary evening. There being no one but me around they served
my dinner in the dining room, and it added to the strain. Some of the
food I didn’t know whether to eat with a fork or a spoon, so I had to
pass up a lot which was hard seeing I was hungry. But when you’re born
in an east side tenement you feel touchy that way—I wasn’t going to be
criticized by two corn-fed menials. I’m glad I’m not rich; it’s grand
all right, but it isn’t comfortable.
The next day—Saturday—it rained and I sat round in the hall and my room
where I could hear the ’phone and keep an eye on Miss Maitland. All she
did was to go for a walk, and in the afternoon stay in her study. We saw
each other at meals, our conversation specially edited for Dixon and
Isaac.
Sunday was fine weather again and Ferguson came round at twelve. Miss
Maitland had gone for another walk and he and I had the hall to
ourselves. He’d been in town the day before, seen George Whitney and
told him what he thought. When I asked how Mr. George took it, he gave a
sarcastic smile and said, "He listened very politely but didn’t seem
much impressed." He also told me they’d hoped to find the child Friday
night in the room at 76 Gayle Street and had been disappointed.
"Of course she wasn’t there," and he ended with "it was only wasting
valuable time, but there’s a proverb about none being so blind as those
who won’t see."
After that he dropped the subject—I think he wanted to get away from
it—and pow-wowing together we worked around to the robbery, which had
been side-tracked by the bigger matter. He said it had been in his mind
to tell me a curious circumstance that he’d come on the night the jewels
were taken and that he thought might be helpful to me. It was about a
cigar band that Miss Maitland had found in the woods that evening when
he and she had walked home together. Before he was half through I was
listening attentive as a cat at a mouse hole, for it was a queer story
and had possibilities. After I put some questions and had it all clear,
we mulled it over—the way I love to do.
"A man dropped it," I said slowly, my thoughts chasing ahead of my
words, "who went through the woods after the storm."
"Exactly—between eight-thirty and ten-thirty. And do you grasp the fact
that those were the hours the house was vacated—the logical time to rob
it?"
"Yes, I’ve thought of that often—wondered why they waited."
"And do you grasp another fact—that Hannah a little before nine heard
the dogs barking and then quieting down as if they scented some one they
knew?"
I nodded; that too I’d made a mental note of.
"It couldn’t have been Price for he was on the way to town then."
"Oh, Price—" he gave an impatient jerk of his head—"of course it wasn’t
Price, but it _was_ some one the dogs knew. That would have been just
about the time a man, watching the house and seeing the ground floor
dark, would have come across the lawn to make his entrance."
I pondered for a spell then said:
"Did you ever tell this to Mrs. Janney or any of them?"
"No, I didn’t think of it myself until a little while ago—the night I
dined here and saw it was one of Mr. Janney’s cigars. And then what was
the use—the light by the safe had fixed the time."
"Yes—if it wasn’t for that light you’d have got a real lead. Too bad,
for it’s a bully starting point, and it would have let out those other
two."
He stiffened up, suddenly haughty looking.
"There’s no necessity of letting out people who never were in. But if
that light was eliminated you could work on the theory that a
professional thief—an expert safe opener—had done the business."
"How would the dogs know _him_?" I asked.
He leaned toward me, looking with a quiet sort of meaning into my face:
"Suppose you put that mind of yours, that Wilbur Whitney values so
highly and I’m beginning to see indications of, on that question."
"What’s the sense of wasting it? My mind’s my capital and I don’t draw
on it unless there’s a need. You get rid of that light at one-thirty and
I’ll expend some of it."
I laughed, but he didn’t, looking on the ground frowning and thoughtful.
Then a step on the balcony made us both turn. It was Miss Maitland, back
from her walk, looking much better, a smile at the sight of him, and a
little color in her face. She joined us and, Dixon announcing lunch,
Ferguson invited himself to stay. It was the first human meal I’d eaten
since the doors of the dining room had opened to me.
After lunch I left them on the balcony and went upstairs to my room. I
tried to read but the air, blowing in warm and sweet and the scent of
the garden coming up, made the book seem dull, and I went to the window
and leaned out.
A while passed that way and then I saw Ferguson going home, a long
figure in white flannels striding across the lawn to the wood path. Then
out from the kitchen come the servants, all togged up, six girls and
Isaac, and away they go on their bikes to the beach. From what I’ve seen
of the homes of the rich I’d rather be in the kitchen than the
parlor—the help have it all over the quality for plain enjoyment. They
went off bawling gayly, and presently Dixon appears, looking like a
parson on his day off, all brisk and cheerful. Last of all comes Hannah,
her hair as slick as a seal’s, a dinky little hat set on top of it, and
a parasol held over it all. She waddled off, large and slow, in another
direction, toward the woods—for a cup of tea and a neighborly gossip in
Ferguson’s kitchen, I guess. How I wished I was along with them!
There I was left, lolling back and forth on the sill, kicking with my
toes on the floor, and wondering what my poor, deserted boy was doing in
town. Then sudden, piercing the stillness with a sort of tingling
thrill, comes the ring of the hall telephone.
I gave a soft jump, snatched up my pad and pencil, and was at the table
and had the receiver off before she’d got to the closet downstairs. It
was so quiet, not a sound in the house, that I could hear every catch in
her breath and every tone in her voice. And what I heard was worth
listening to. A man spoke first:
"Hello, who’s this?"
"Esther Maitland. Is it—is it?"
"Yes—C. P. I’ve waited until now as I knew there wouldn’t be anybody
around. It’s all right."
"Truly. You’re not saying it to keep me quiet?"
"Not a bit. There’s no need for any worry. Everything’s gone without a
hitch."
"And you think it’s safe—to—to—take the next step?"
"Perfectly. We’re going to get her out of town on Tuesday night."
"Oh!" I could hear the relief in her voice. "You don’t know what this
means to me?"
He gave a little, dry laugh:
"Me too—I’ll admit it’s been something of a strain. That’s all I wanted
to say. Good-by."
I scratched it on the pad, and tiptoed back to my room, short of breath
a bit myself. What would Ferguson say to this? I stood by the window,
thinking how to send it in, and things went right for out she came from
the balcony and walked across to a place on the lawn where there were
some chairs under a group of maples. She sat down and began to read, and
I stole back to the hall and took a call for the Whitney house. Being
Sunday they might be out, but that went right too, for I got the Chief
himself. I told him and asked for instructions and they came straight
and quick:
"Bring her into town to-morrow morning. There’s a train at nine-thirty
you can take. Get a taxi at the depot and come right up to the office.
You’ll have to tell her in what capacity you’re serving the family.
That’ll be easy—you were engaged for the robbery. Don’t let her think
you have any interest in the kidnaping, and on no account let her guess
we suspect her. Say you’ve had a message from me, that some new facts
have come in and I want to ask her a few questions—see if the
information tallies with what she saw. Keep her quiet and calm. Got that
straight? All right—so long."