Iron bars, however, do not fall down-stairs in the middle of the night
alone. Coupled with the figure on the veranda the agency by which it
climbed might be assumed. But--and here was the thing that puzzled me
most--the doors were all fastened that morning, the windows unmolested,
and the particular door from the card-room to the veranda had a
combination lock of which I held the key, and which had not been
tampered with.
I fixed on an attempt at burglary, as the most natural explanation--an
attempt frustrated by the falling of the object, whatever it was, that
had roused me. Two things I could not understand: how the intruder had
escaped with everything locked, and why he had left the small silver,
which, in the absence of a butler, had remained down-stairs over night.
Under pretext of learning more about the place, Thomas Johnson led me
through the house and the cellars, without result. Everything was in
good order and repair; money had been spent lavishly on construction
and plumbing. The house was full of conveniences, and I had no reason
to repent my bargain, save the fact that, in the nature of things,
night must come again. And other nights must follow--and we were a long
way from a police-station.
In the afternoon a hack came up from Casanova, with a fresh relay of
servants. The driver took them with a flourish to the servants'
entrance, and drove around to the front of the house, where I was
awaiting him.
"Two dollars," he said in reply to my question. "I don't charge full
rates, because, bringin' 'em up all summer as I do, it pays to make a
special price. When they got off the train, I sez, sez I, 'There's
another bunch for Sunnyside, cook, parlor maid and all.' Yes'm--six
summers, and a new lot never less than once a month. They won't stand
for the country and the lonesomeness, I reckon."
But with the presence of the "bunch" of servants my courage revived,
and late in the afternoon came a message from Gertrude that she and
Halsey would arrive that night at about eleven o'clock, coming in the
car from Richfield. Things were looking up; and when Beulah, my cat, a
most intelligent animal, found some early catnip on a bank near the
house and rolled in it in a feline ecstasy, I decided that getting back
to nature was the thing to do.
While I was dressing for dinner, Liddy rapped at the door. She was
hardly herself yet, but privately I think she was worrying about the
broken mirror and its augury, more than anything else. When she came in
she was holding something in her hand, and she laid it on the
dressing-table carefully.
"I found it in the linen hamper," she said. "It must be Mr. Halsey's,
but it seems queer how it got there."