 CHAPTER XVIII. A hole in the wall. My taking the detective out to Sunnyside raced an unexpected storm of protest from Gertrude and Halsey. I was not prepared for it, and I scarcely knew how to account for it. To me Mr. Jameson was far less formidable under my eyes where I knew what he was doing than he was off in the city, twisting circumstances and motives to suit himself, and learning what he wished to know about events at Sunnyside in some occult way. I was glad enough to have him there, when excitements began to come, thick and fast. A new element was about to enter into affairs. Monday or Tuesday at the latest would find Dr. Walker back in his green and white house in the village, and Louis's attitude to him in the immediate future would signify Halsey's happiness or wretchedness as it might turn out. Then too the return of her brother would mean, of course, that she would have to leave us, and had become greatly attached to her. From the day Mr. Jameson came to Sunnyside, there was a subtle change in Gertrude's manner to me. It was elusive, difficult to analyze, but it was there. She was no longer frank with me, although I think her affection never wavered. At the time I laid the change to the fact that I had forbidden all communication with John Bailey, and had refused to acknowledge any engagement between the two. Gertrude spent much of her time wandering through the grounds or taking long cross-country walks. He played golf at the country club day after day, and after Louis's left, as she did the following week, Mr. Jameson and I were much together. He played a fair game of privilege, but he cheated at Solitaire. The night the detective arrived Saturday I had a talk with him. I told him of the experience Louis Armstrong had had the night before on the circular staircase, and about the man who had so frightened Rosie on the drive. I saw that he thought the information was important, and to my suggestion that we put an additional lock on the east wing door he opposed a strong negative. I think it probable, he said, that our visitor will be back again, and the thing to do is to live things exactly as they are to avoid rousing suspicion. Then I can watch for at least a part of each night, and probably Mr. Innis will help us out. I would say if we looked at Thomas as possible. The old man knows more than he is willing to admit. I suggested that Alex, the gardener, would probably be willing to help, and Mr. Jameson undertook to make the arrangement. For one night, however, Mr. Jameson preferred to watch alone. Apparently nothing occurred. The detective sat in absolute darkness on the lower step of the stairs, dosing, he said afterwards, now and then. Nothing could pass him in either direction, and the door in the morning remained as securely fastened as it had been the night before. And yet one of the most inexplicable occurrences of the whole affair took place at very night. Liddy came to my room on Sunday morning with a face as long as the moral law. She laid out my things as usual, but I missed her customary garelessness. I was not regaled with new cooks extravagances to eggs, and she even forbore to mention that Jameson on whose arrival she had looked with silent disfavor. What's the matter, Liddy? I asked at last. Didn't you sleep last night? No, ma'am, she said stiffly. Did you have two cups of coffee at your dinner? I inquired. No, ma'am, indignantly. I set up and almost upset my hot water. I always take a cup of hot water with a pinch of salt before I get up. It tones the stomach. Liddy Allen, I said, stop calming that switch and tell me what is wrong with you. Liddy heaved a sigh. Girl and woman, she said, I've been with you twenty-five years, Miss Rachel, through good temper and bad. The idea—and what have I taken from her in the way of sulk's? But I guess I can't stand it any longer. My trunks packed. Who packed it? I asked, expecting from her tone to be told she had waken to find it done by some ghostly hand. I did, Miss Rachel. You won't believe me when I tell you this house is haunted. Who was it fair down to clotheshoot? Who was it scared, Miss Louise, almost into a grave? I'm doing my best to find out, I said. What in the world are you driving at? She drew a long breath. There is a hole in the trunk-room wall dug out since last night. It's big enough to put your head in, and the plaster is all over the place. Nonsense, I said. Plaster is always falling. But Liddy clenched that. Miss Alex, she said. When he put the new cook's trunk there last night, the wall was as smooth as this. This morning it's dug out, and there's plaster on the cook's trunk. Miss Rachel, you can get a dozen detectives and put one in every stair in the house, and you'll never catch anything. There's some things you can't handcuff. Liddy was right. As soon as I could, I went up to the trunk-room which was directly over my bedroom. The plan of the upper story of the house was like that of the second floor in the main. One end, however, over the east wing had been left only roughly finished, the intention having been to convert it into a ball-room at some future time. The mage-room, trunk-room, and various storerooms including a large airy linen-room opened from a long corridor like that on the second floor. And in the trunk-room, as Liddy had said, was a fresh break in the plaster. Not only in the plaster, but through the lathings, the aperture extended. I reached into the opening and three feet away, perhaps, I could touch the bricks of the partition wall. For some reason the architect in building the house had left a space there that struck me, even in the surprise of the discovery, as an excellent place for a conflagration to gain headway. For sure the hall was not here yesterday, I asked Liddy, whose expression was a mixture of satisfaction and alarm. In answer she pointed to the new-cook's trunk, that necessary a chunk of the migratory domestic. The top was covered with fine white plaster as was the floor, but there were no large pieces of mortar laying around, no bits of lathing. When I mentioned this to Liddy, she merely raised her eyebrows. Being quite confident that the cap was of unholy origin, she did not concern herself with such trifles as a bit of mortar and lath. No doubt there were even then heaped neatly on a gravestone in the castle of a churchyard. I brought Mr. James up to see the hole in the wall directly after breakfast. His expression was very odd when he looked at it, and the first thing he did was to try to discover what object, if any, such a hole could have. He got a piece of candle, and by enlarging the aperture a little, was able to examine what lay beyond. The result was nil. The trunk-room, although heated by steam-heat, like the rest of the house, boasted of a fireplace and mantle as well. The opening had been made between the flue and the outer wall of the house. There was revealed, however, on inspection, clearly the brick of the chimney on one side and the outer wall of the house on the other. In depth the space extended only to the flooring. The bridge had been made about four feet from the floor, and inside were all the missing bits of plaster. It had been a methodical ghost. It was very much of a disappointment. I had expected a secret room, at the very least, and I think even Mr. Jameson had fancied he might at last have a clue to the mystery. There was evidently nothing more to be discovered. Lady reported that everything was serene among the servants and that none of them had been disturbed by the noise. The maddening thing, however, was that the night the visitor had evidently more than one way of gaining access to the house, and we made arrangements to redouble our vigilances to windows and doors that night. Halsey was inclined to poo-poo the whole affair. He said a break in the plaster might have occurred months ago and gone unnoticed, and that the dust had probably been steered up the day before. After all, we had to let it go at that, but we put in an uncomfortable Sunday. Kirtrude went to church, and Halsey took a long walk in the morning. This was able to sit up, and she allowed Halsey and Liddy to assist her downstairs late in the afternoon. The east veranda was shady, green with vines and palms, cheerful with cushions and lounging chairs. We put Louise in a steamer chair, and she sat there passively enough, her hands clasped in her lap. We were very silent. Halsey sat on the rail with a pipe, openly watching Louise as she looked broodingly across the valley to the hills. There was something baffling in the girl's eyes, and gradually Halsey's boyish features lost her glow at seeing her about again and settled into grim lines. He was like his father just then. We sat until late afternoon, Halsey growing more and more moody. Shortly before six he got up and went into the house, and in a few minutes he came out and called me to the telephone. It was Anna Whitcombe in town, and she kept me for twenty minutes telling me the children had had the measles and how Madame Sweeney had botched her new gown. When I finished Liddy was behind me, her mouth a thin line. I wish she would try to look cheerful, Liddy, I groaned. Your face was sour milk. But Liddy seldom replied to my jibes. She folded her lips a little tighter. He called her up, she said irregularly. He called her up and asked her to keep you on the telephone so he could talk to Miss Louise. A thankless child is sharper than a serpent's tooth. Nonsense, I said brusquely. I might have known enough to leave them. It's a long time since you and I were in love, Liddy, and we forget. Liddy sniffed. No man ever made a fool of me, she replied, virtuously. Well, something did, I retorted. End of Chapter 18. Recording by Winnah Hathaway in Fayetteville, North Carolina. Chapter 19. Concerning Chalmots Mr. Jameson, I said, when we found ourselves alone after dinner that night. The inquest yesterday seemed to me the mere stir capitulation of things that were already known. It developed nothing new beyond the story of Dr. Stewart's, and that was volunteered. An inquest is only a necessary formality, Ms. Inns. He replied. Unless a crime is committed in the open, the inquest does nothing beyond getting evidence from Winnah's while events are still in their minds. The police steps in later. You and I both know how many important things never transpired. For instance, that man had no key, and yet Mr. Truth testified to a fumbling at lock, and then the opening of the door. The piece of evidence you mentioned, Dr. Stewart's story, is one of those things we have to take cautiously. The doctor has a patient who wears black and does not raise her veil. Why? It is a typical mysterious lady. Then the good doctor comes across Arnold Armstrong, who was a gristless camp. The mortuary. What's the rest of it? And he is quarreling with the lady in black. Be old, says the doctor. They are one and same. Why was Mr. Bailey not present at the inquest? The detective's expression was peculiar. Because this physician testified that he is ill and unable to leave his bed. Ill? I exclaim. Why? Neither Alcine or J. Truth has told me that. There are more things than that, Ms. Inns, that are puzzling. Bailey gives impression that he knew nothing of the crash at the bank until he read it in the paper Monday night, and that he went back and surrendered himself immediately. I do not believe it. Jonas, the watchman at the trader's bank, tells a different story. He says that on the Thursday night before, about 8.30, Bailey went back to the bank. Jonas admitted him, and he says the cashier was in a state almost of collapse. Bailey worked until midnight. Then he closed the vault and went away. The occurrence was so unusual that the watchman pondered over it and the rest of the night. What did Bailey do when he went back to the nickerbocker apartments at night? He packed the suitcase ready for instant departure. But he held off too long. He waited for something. My personal opinion is that he waited to see Ms. Churchill before flying from the country. Then, when he had shot down Arnold Armstrong that night, he had to choose between two evils. He did things that would immediately turn public opinion in his favor, and surrendered himself as an innocent man. The strongest thing against him is his preparation for flight, and is deciding to come back after the murder of Arnold Armstrong. He was sure enough to disturb suspicion as to the grave recharge. The evening dragged along slowly. Mrs. Watson came to my bedroom before I went to bed and asked if I had any arnica. She showed me a badly swollen hand with red districts running toward the elbow. She said it was the end she had heard night of the murder a week before, and that she had not slept well since. It looked to me as if it might be serious, and I told her to let Dr. Stewart see it. The next morning, Mrs. Watson went up to town on the 11th train, and was admitted to the charity hospital. She was suffering from blood poisoning. I fully meant to go up and see her there, but other things drove her entirely from my mind. I telephoned to the hospital that day, however, and ordered a private room for her, and whatever comfort she might be allowed. Mrs. Armstrong arrived Monday evening with her husband's body, and services were set for the next day. The house on Chesno Street, in town, had been opened, and Tuesday morning Louise left us to go home. She sent for me before she went, and I saw she had been crying. How can I thank you, Miss Inns? She said. You have taken me on faith and you have not asked me any questions. Some time, perhaps, I can tell you. And when the time comes, you will all despise me. Alcy, too. I tried to tell her how glad I was to have her Heather, but there was something else she wanted to say. She said it finally, when she had made the constraint goodbye to Alcy, and the car was waiting at the door. Miss Inns, she said in a low tone. If there is any attempt made to have you give up the house, do it, if you possibly can. I am afraid to have you stay. There was all. She truth went into town with her and saw her safely home. She reported the decided coldness in the gritty between Louise and her mother, and that Dr. Walker was there, apparently in charge of the arrangements for the funeral. Alcy disappeared shortly after Louise left and came home about nine that night, muddy and tired. As for Thomas, he went to run, jacked and sat, and I saw the detective watching him closely at dinner. Even now I wonder, what did Thomas know? What did he suspect? At ten o'clock the household had settled down for the night. Liddy, who was taking Mrs. Watson's place, had finished examining the tea towels and the corners of the shelves in the cooling room and had gone to bed. Alex, the gardener, had gone heavily up circular staircase to his room, and Mr. Jameson was examining the locks of the windows. Alcy dropped into a chair and living room and stared muddily ahead. Once he aroused. What sort of looking chap is that Walker's your truth? He asked. Rather tall, very dark, smooth shaven, not bad looking. Gertrude said, putting down the book she had been pretending to read. Alcy kicked the tabaret viciously. Lovely place this village must be in winter. He said irrelevantly. A girl would be buried alive here. It was then someone wrapped at knock on the heavy front door. Alcy got up pleasantly and opened it, admitting Warner. He was out of breath from running, and he looked half abashed. I'm sorry to disturb you. He said. But I didn't know what else to do. It's about Thomas. What about Thomas? I asked. Mr. Jameson had come into the hall, and we all stared at Warner. His acting queer, Warner explained, is sitting down there on the edge of the porch, and he says he has seen a ghost. The old man looks bad too. He can scarcely speak. He is as full of superstition as an egg is of meat. I said. Alcy, bring some whiskey, and we will all go down. No one moved to get to whiskey. From which I judged there were three pockets flasks ready for emergency. Gertrude threw a shawl around my shoulders, and we all started down over the hill. I had made so many nocturnal excursions around the place that I knew my way perfectly. But Thomas was not on veranda, nor were he inside the house. The man exchanged significant glasses, and Warner got a lantern. He can't have gone far. He said. He was trembling so that he couldn't stand when I left. Jameson and Alcy together made the round of the lodge, occasionally calling the old man by name. There was no response. No Thomas came, bowing and showing his white teeth through the darkness. I began to be vaguely uneasy for the first time. Gertrude, who was never nervous in the dark, went alone down the drive to the gate, and stood there looking along the yellowish line of the road while I waited on the tiny veranda. Warner was puzzled. He came around to the edge of the veranda and stood looking at it as if it were hard to know and explain. He might have stumbled into the house, he said. But he could not have climbed stairs. Anyhow, it's not inside or outside that I can see. The other members of the party had come back now, and no one had found any trace of the old man. His pipe, still warm, rested on the edge of the rail and inside on the table, is already had shoe that its owner had not gone far. He was not far after all. From the table my eyes travelled around the room and stopped at the door of a closet. I hardly know what impulse moved me, but I went in and turned in up. It burst open with the impetuous of a weight behind it, and something fell apart before in a heap on the floor. It was Thomas. Thomas without a mark of injury on him, and dead. Wernher was on his knees in a moment, flaming at the old man's collar to loosen it, but also cut his hand. Let him alone, he said. You can help him, he is dead. We stood there, each avoiding the other's eyes. We spoke low and reverently in the presence of death, and we tacitly avoided any mention of suspicion that was in every mind. When Mr. Jameson had finished his cursory examination, he caught up and dusted knees with trousers. There is no sign of injury. He said, and I know I, for once, drew a long breath of relief. From what Wernher says and from his hitting in the closet, I should say that he was scared to death, frightened and weak-hearted together. But what could have done it? Judith asked. He was all right this evening at dinner. Wernher, what did he say when he found him on the porch? Wernher looked shaken. His honest, boyish face was colorless. Just what I told you, Miss Inns. He had been reading the paper downstairs. I had put up the car and feeling sleepy. I came down to the lodge to go to bed. As I went upstairs, Thomas put on the paper and, taking his pipe, went out on the porch. Then I heard an exclamation from him. What did he say? The man did Jameson. I couldn't hear, but his voice was strange. It sounded startled. I waited for him to call out again, but he did not, so I went downstairs. He was sitting on the porch step, looking straight ahead, as if it saw something among the trees across the road. And he kept mumbling about having seen a ghost. He looked queer and I tried to get him inside, but he wouldn't move. Then I thought I'd better go up to the house. Didn't he say anything else you could understand? I asked. He said something about grave giving up its dead. Mr. Jameson was going through the old man's pockets, and your children were composing his arms, folding them across his white shirt bosom, always so spotless. Mr. Jameson looked up at me. What was it that you said to me, Miss Inns? About murder at a house being a beginning and not an end? By Jove, I believe you're right. In the crucifix investigations, the detective had come to the inner pocket of the dead butler's black coat. Here he found some things that interested him. One was a small flat key, with a red cord tied to it, and the other was a bit of white paper, on which was written something in Thomas Cram's hand. Mr. Jameson read it. Then he gave it to me. It was an address in fresh ink. Lucian Wallace, 14 M Street, Richfield. As the card went round, I think both the detective and I watched for any possible effect it might have, but, beyond perplexity, there seemed to be none. Richfield, Gertrude exclaimed. Why? M Street is the main street. Don't you remember Alcy? Lucian Wallace, Alcy said. That is the child Stuart spoke of at the inquest. Warner, with his mechanics instant, had reached for the key. What he said was not a surprise. Ye log, he said, probably a key to the East Entry. There was no reason why Thomas, an old untrusted servant, should not have a key to that particular door, although the servant's entry was in the West Wing. But had not known of this key and it opened up a new field of conjecture. Just now, however, there were many things to be attended to, and, leaving Warner with body, we all went back to the house. Mr. Jameson walked with me, while Alcy and Gertrude followed. I suppose I shall have to notify the Armstrong's. I said. They will know if Thomas had any people and how to reach them. Of course, I expect to destroy the expensive funeral, but his relatives must be found. What do you think frightened him, Mr. Jameson? It is hard to say. He replied slowly. But I think we may be certain it was right, and that he was heeding from something. I am suring more in one way. I have always believed that Thomas knew something, or suspected something, that he would not tell. Do you know how much money there was in that worn-out wallet of his? Nearly a hundred dollars, almost two months' wages, and yet those darkies seldom have a penny. Well, what Thomas knew will be buried with him. Alcy suggested that the crumbs be searched, but Mr. Jameson vetoed the suggestion. You'd find nothing. He said, personal clever enough to get into the sunny side and do your hold in the wall, while I watch downstairs, is not be found by going around the shrubbery with the lantern. With the death of Thomas, I felt that the climates had come in a farce at sunny side. The night that fell was quite enough. Alcy watched at foot that staircase, and a complicated system of bolts on the other doors seemed to be effectual. Once in the night I wakened and thought I heard a tapping again, but all was quiet, and I had reached the stage where I refused to be disturbed from minor occurrences. The arms rungs were notified at Thomas' death, and I had my first interview with Dr. Walcroz as a result. He came up early the next morning, just as we finished breakfast, in a professional looking car with a black hood. I found him striding up and down the living room, and, in spite of my preconceived dislike, I had to admit that the man was presentable. A big fellow he was, tall and dark, as Gertrude had said, smooth, shaving and erect, with preeminent features and a square jaw. He was painfully spruce in his appearance, and his man was almost obtrusively polite. I must make a double excuse for this early visit, Miss Inns. He said, as he sat down, the chair was lower than he expected, and his dignity required collecting before he went on. My professional duties are urgent and long and glad, and a fault of the everyday manner. Something must be done about that body. Yes, I said, sitting on the edge of my chair. I merely wished the address of Thomas' people. You might have telephoned if you were busy. He smiled. I wished to see you about something else, he said. As for Thomas, it is Mrs. Armstrong's wish that you would allow her to attend to the expense. About his relatives, I have already notified his brother and village. It was heart disease, I think. Thomas always had the bad heart. Heart disease and fright, I said, still on the edge of my chair. But the doctor had no intention of leaving. I understand you have a ghost up here, and that you have the house filled with detectives to exercise it, he said. For some reason I felt I was being pumped, as Alcy says. You have been misinformed, I replied. What, no ghosts, no detectives? He said, still with a smile. What is the appointment to the village? I resented his attempt at playfulness. It had been anything but a joke to us. Dr. Walker, I said tartly. I failed to see any humor in the situation. Since I came here, one man has been shot, and another one has died from shock. There have been intruders in the house and strange noises. If that is funny, there is something wrong with my sense of humor. You missed the point. He said, still good naturally. The thing that is funny to me is that you insist on remaining here under the circumstances. I should think nothing would keep you. You are mistaken. Everything that occurs only confuses my resolution to stay until the mystery is cleared. I have a message for you, Miss Inns. He said, rising at last. Mrs. Armstrong has me to thank you for your kindness to Lewis, whose whim, occurring at the time it did, put her to great inconvenience. Also, and this is a delicate matter, she asked me to appeal to your natural sympathy for her, at this time, and to ask you if you will not reconsider your decision about the house. Sunnyside is her home. She loves it dearly, and just now she wishes to retire here for quiet and peace. She must have had a change of heart. I said, ingratiously enough. Lewis told me her mother despised the place. Besides, this is no place for quiet and peace just now. Anyhow, doctor, while I don't care to force an issue, I shall certainly remain here for a time at least. For how long? He asked. My leave is for six months. I shall say until some explanation is found for certain things. My own family is implicated now, and I shall do everything to clear the mystery of Arnold Armstrong's murder. The doctor stood looking down, slapping his gloves thoughtfully against the palm of a well-looked after hand. You say there have been intruders in the house. He asked. You are sure of that, Miss Inns? Certain. In what part? In the east wing. Can you tell me when these intruders occurred, and what the purpose seemed to be? Was it robbery? No, I said decidedly. As to time, was on Friday night a week ago, again following night, when Arnold Armstrong was murdered, and again last Friday night. The doctor looked serious. He seemed to be debating some question in his mind and to reach a decision. Miss Inns? He said. I am in a peculiar position. I understand your attitude, of course. But do you think you are wise? Ever since you have come here, there have been hostile demonstrations against you and your family. I am not a croaker, but tick a warning. Live before anything occurs that will cause you a lifelong regret. I am willing to take responsibility. I said coldly. I think he gave me up then as a poor proposition. He asked to be shown where Arnold Armstrong's body had been found, and I took him there. He scrutinized the old place carefully, examining stairs and lock. When he had taken a formal farewell, I was confident of one thing. Dr. Walker would do anything he could do to get new way from sunny side. End of Chapter 20. Chapter 21 of the Circular Staircase This is a little box recording. All the box recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit liverbox.org. Recording by Anna Svesi-Mounte Portugal Circular Staircase by Mary Roberts Reinhardt Chapter 21, 14 Elm Street It was Monday evening when we found the body of poor old Chalmers. Monday night had been uneventful. Things were quiet at the house and the peculiar circumstances of the old man's death had been carefully kept from servants. Rosy took charge of turning room and pantry in the absence of a butler and, except for the warning of the Kazanova doctor, everything greeted of peace. Affairs at the Trader's Bank were progressing slowly. The failure had hit small stockholders very hard, ministers little met this chapel in Kazanova among them. He had received as a legacy from an uncle a few shows of stock in the Trader's Bank and now his joy was turned to bitterness. He had sacrificed everything he had in the world and his feeling against Paul Armstrong, that as he was, must have been bitter in the extreme. He was asked to officiate at simple services when the dead bankers body was interred in Kazanova church yard. The two good men providentially took cold and the substitute was called in. A few days after the services he called to see me, a kind-faced little man in a very bad frock coat and under a tie. I think he was in certainness my connection with the Armstrong family and dubious whether I considered Mr. Armstrong sticking away a matter for conness or congratulation. He was not long in doubt. I liked little men. He had known Thomas well and had promised to officiate at services in the rickety African Zion church. He told me more of himself than he knew and before he left, I have solidified him and myself, I admit, by promising a new carpet for his church. He was much affected and I gathered that he had yearned over his wrecked chapel as a mother over half-clothed child. You are laying up treasure, Miss Inns, he said brokenly, where neither moth nor rust corrupt nor thieves break through and steal. It is certainly a safer place than sunny side, I admitted, and the thought of the carpet permitted him to smile. He stood just inside the doorway, looking from the luxury of the house and beauty of the view. The rich ought to be good, he said wistfully. They have so much that is beautiful and beauty is ennobling, and yet, while I ought to say nothing but good of the dead, Mr. Armstrong saw nothing of this fair prospect. To him these trees and lawns were not the work of God, their property, at so much an acre. He loved money, Miss Inns. He offered up everything to his golden calf. Not power, not ambition, was his fetches. It was money. Then he dropped his puppet manner and, turning to me with his engaging smile. In spite of all this luxury, he said, the country people here ever seen that Mr. Paul Armstrong would sit on a dollar and see all around it. Unlike summer people, he gave neither to the poor nor to the church. He loves money for its own sake. And there are no pockets in shrouds, I said cynically. I sent him home in the car, with a bunch of hot-house roses for his wife, and he was quite overwhelmed. As for me, I had a generous glow that was cheap at the price of a church carpet. I received less gratification and less gratitude when I presented the New Silver Communion set to Saint Barnabas. I had the great many things to think about in those days. I made out a list of questions and possible answers, but I seemed only to be working around in a circle. I always wondered where I began. The list was something like this. Go and enter the house the night before the murder. Thomas claimed it was Mr. Bailey, home he had seen on footpath and who owned the Pearl Cuff Link. Why did Arnold Armstrong come back after he had left the house the night he was killed? No answer. Was it on mission Louis had mentioned? Who admitted him? Trude Trude said she had locked his entry. There was no key on that man or in the door. He must have been admitted from within. Who had been locked in the closet, Trude? Someone unfamiliar with the house evidently, only two people missing from the household rose in Trude Trude. Rosie had been at the lodge, therefore. But was it Trude Trude? Might it not have been mysterious in sugar again? Who had accosted Rosie on the drive? Again, perhaps nightly visitor. It seemed more likely someone who suspected the secret at lodge. Who's Louis under surveillance? Who had passed Louis on the circular staircase? Could it have been Thomas? The key to the East entry made this a possibility. But why was he there, if it were indeed he? Who had made the hole in the trunk room wall? It was not vandalism. It had been done quietly and with limited purpose. If I had only known how to read the purpose of that capping aperture, what I might have saved in anxiety and mental strain. Why had Louis left her pupil and come home to hide at lodge? There was no answer as yet to this or to the next questions. What did both she and Dr. Walker warners away from the house? Who was Louis in mollus? What did Thomas see in the shadows the night he died? What was the meaning of the subtle change in Trude Trude? Was Jack Bailey an accomplice or a victim, including of the Traders Bank? Why all powerful reason made Louis determined to marry Dr. Walker? The examiners were still working on the books of the Traders Bank and it was probable that several weeks would be less before everything else. The fifth expert accountant, who had examined the books some two months before, testified that every bond, every piece of valuable paper was there at that time. It had been shortly after their examination that the president, who had been in bad health, had gone to California. Mr. Bailey was still hailed at the Thickerbocker and in this, as in other ways, Dr. Trude's conduct puzzled me. She seemed indifferent, refused to discuss matters pertaining to the bank and never to my knowledge, either wrote to him or went to see him. Gradually, I came to the conclusion that Trude, with the rest of the world, believed her lover guilty and, although I believed it myself for that matter, I was irritated by her indifference. Grows in my day did not meekly accept the public's verdict I stood meant I loved. But presently something occurred that made me think that on a jittered surface calm there was a sitting flood of emotions. Tuesday morning the detective made a careful search of the grounds, but he found nothing. In the afternoon he disappeared and it was late that night when he came home. He said he would have to go back to the city the following day and arrange with Alty and Alex to guard the house. Lady came to me on Wednesday morning with her black silk apron held up like a bag and her eyes big with virtue's red. It was the day of Thomas' funeral in the village and Alex and I were in the conservatory cutting flowers for the old man's casket. Lady is never so happy as when she is making herself fresh and now her mouth drooped while her eyes were triumphant. I always said there were plenty of things going on here right under our noses that we couldn't see. She said holding out her apron. I don't see with my nose, I remarked. What have you got there? Lady pushed aside a half-dozen geranium pots and in the space thus clear she dumped contents of her apron, a handfuls of tiny bits of paper. Alex had stepped back but I saw him watching her curiously. What a moment, Lady. I said, you have been going through the library paper basket again. Lady was arranging her bits of paper with skill of long practice and paid no attention. Did it ever court you, I went on putting my hand over the scraps, that when people cheer up their correspondence it is for the expression purpose of kidding in from being read. If they wasn't ashamed of it, they wouldn't take so much trouble, Miss Rachel. Lady said directly. More than that, with things happening every day, I consider it my duty. If you don't read and act on this, I shall give it to that Jameson and I'll venture he'll not go back to the city today. That decided me. If the scraps had anything to do with the mystery, ordinary conventions had no value. So Lady arranged scraps, like working out one of the puzzle pictures children play with, and she did it with much the same eagerness. When it was finished, she stepped aside while I read it. What day night, nine o'clock, bridged. I read aloud. Then, aware of Alex's stare, I turned on Lady. Someone needs to play a bridge tonight at nine o'clock, I said. Is that your business or mine? Lady was aggrieved. She was about to reply when I scooped up the pieces and left the conservatory. Now then, I said, when we got outside. Will you tell me why you chose to take Alex into your confidence? He's no fool. Do you suppose he thinks anyone in this house is going to play bridge tonight at nine o'clock by appointment? I suppose you have shown it in the kitchen, and instead of my being able to slip down to the bridge tonight quietly and see who is there, the old household will be going in a procession. Nobody knows it. Lady said humbly. I found it in the basket in Mr. Church's dressing room. Look at the back of the sheet. I turned over some of the scraps and, sure enough, it was a blank deposit slip from the trader's bank. So, Judge Trudeau is going to meet Jack Paley that night by the bridge, and I had thought he was ill. It hardly seemed like action of an innocent man, this avoidance of daylight and of his fiancest people. I decided to make certain, however, by going to the bridge that night. After luncheon, Mr. Jameson suggested that I go with him to Ridgefield and I consented. I am inclined to place more faith in Dr. Stewart's story. He said, since I found that scrap in old Thomas' pocket. It bears out statement that the woman with the child and the woman who crawled with arms rung are the same. It looks as if Thomas had stumbled on to some affair which was more or less discreetable to the dead man and, with a certain loyalty to the family, had kept it to himself. Then, you see, your story about the woman and the car's room window begins to mean something. It is nearly as approach to anything tangible that we have had yet. Warner took us to Ridgefield in the car. It was about 25 miles by railroad, but by taking a series of atrocity rough shortcuts, we got there very quickly. It was a pretty little town on the river, and back on a hill, I could see the Morton's big country house where all seen jerker that had been staying until the night of the murder. Elm Street was almost the only street, a number for two in was easily found. It was a small white house, dilapidated without having gained anything picturesque, with the low window and the porch only a foot or so above the beat of a lawn. There was a baby carriage in the path, and from a swing at side came the sound of conflict. Three small children were disputing vociferously, and a faded young woman with a kindly face was stroined hushed to clamor. When she saw us, she untied her king one in the apron and came around to the porch. Good afternoon, I said. Jameson lifted his head without speaking. I came to inquire about the child named Lucien Wallace. I'm glad you have come, she said. Despite of the other children, I think little fellow is lonely. We thought perhaps his mother would be here today. Mr. Jameson stepped forward. You are Mrs. Tate. I wondered how the detective knew. Yes, sir. Mrs. Tate, we want to make some inquiries, perhaps in the house. Come right in, she said, auspitably. And soon we were in little chubby parlor, exactly like a thousand of its prototypes. Mrs. Tate said uneasily, her hands folded in her lap. How long has Lucien been here? Mr. Jameson asked. Since a week ago last Friday, his mother paid one week's board in advance. The address not been paid. Was he healed when he came? No, sir. Not what he would call sick. He was getting better of typhoon, she said, and this speaking up fine. Would you tell me his mother's name and address? That's trouble, the young woman said, knitting her brows. She gave her name as Mrs. Wallace, and said she had no address. She was looking for a boarding house in town. She said she worked in a department store and couldn't take care of the child properly, and he needed fresh air and milk. I have three children of my own, and one more didn't make much difference in the work, but I wish he would pay this week's board. Did she say what store it was? No, sir, but all the boy's clothes came from King's. He has far too fine clothes for the country. There was a shrews of shouts and shrills yells from the front door, followed by the loud stamping of children's feet and the trophy O-A-O-A. Into the room came a tandem, team of two chubby youngsters, a boy and a girl, harnessed with a clothesline, and driven by a laughing boy of about seven, and chained overalls and breast buttons. The small driver caught my attention at once. He was a beautiful child, and, although he showed trace of the reasons to fear illness, he skinned at now the clear transparency of elf. Oh, a flinders! he shouted. You're going to smash the trap! Mr. Jameson cooks him over by holding out a lead pencil, stripped blue and yellow. Now then, he said, when the boy had taken the lead pencil and was setting its usefulness on the detective's cuff. Now then, I'll bet you don't know what your name is. I do, said the boy, Lucien Wallace. Great, and what's your mother's name? Mother, of course, what's your mother's name? And he pointed to me. I'm going to stop wearing black. It was a woman's age. And where did you leave before you came here? The detective was plight enough not to smile. Cross-matter. He said, and I saw Mr. Jameson's eyebrows go up. German, he commented. Well, young man. You don't seem to know much about yourself. I've tried it all week. Mrs. State broke in. The boy knows a word or two of German, but he doesn't know where he lives or anything about himself. Mr. Jameson wrote something on the card and gave it to her. Mrs. State, he said. I want you to do something. Here is some money for the telephone call. The instant the boy's mother appears here, call up that number and ask for the person whose name is there. You can run across to the drugstore or an errand and do it quietly. Just say, the lady has come. The lady has come. Repeated Mrs. State. Very well, sir, and I hope it will be soon. The milk bill alone is almost double what it was. How much is the child's board? I asked. $3 a week, including his washing. Very well, I said. Now, Mrs. State, I'm going to pay last week's board and a week in advance. If the mother comes, she is to know nothing of this visit. Absolutely not a word and, in return for your silence, you may use this money for something for your own children. Her tired, fiddly face lighted up and I saw a glance at little Tate's small feet. Shoes, I divine, to feed the gentle poor beings almost as expensive as their stomachs. As I went back, Mr. Jameson made only one remark. I think he was laboring under the weight of a great disappointment. Is King's a children's outfitting place? He asked. Not especially. It is a general department store. It was silence after that, but he went on the telephone as soon as we got home and called up King and the company in the city. After a time, he got general manager and they talked for some time. When Mr. Jameson hung up the receiver, he turned to me. The blood thickens. He said with his ready smile. There are four women named Wallace at King's, none of them married, and none over 20. I think I shall go up to the city tonight. I want to go to the children's hospital. But before I go, Miss Inns, I wish you would be more frank with me than you have been yet. I want you to show me the revolver he picked up in the tulip bed. So he had known all along. It was a revolver, Mr. Jameson. I admitted cornered at last. But I cannot show it to you. It is not in my possession. End of chapter 21. Chapter 22 of the Circular Staircase This is a Librebox recording. All Librebox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Librebox.org Recording by NSVC Mount Portugal The Circular Staircase by Mary Roberts Reinhardt Chapter 22 A Leather Art of Place At dinner, Mr. Jameson suggested sending a man out in his place for a couple of days, but Alcy was certain there would be nothing more and felt that he and Alex would manage the situation. The detective went back to town early in the evening, and by now no clock Alcy, who had been playing golf, as a man does anything to check his mind away from trouble, was sleeping soundly on the big leather Davenport in the living room. I said and knitted, pretending not to notice when Drude got up and wandered out into the starlight. As soon as I was satisfied that she had gone, however, I went out cautiously. I had no intention of eavesdropping, but I wanted to be certain that it was Jack Bailey she was meeting. Too many things had occurred in which Drude was, or appeared to be involved, to allow anything to be left in question. I went slowly across the lawn, skirted the edge to a brick not far from the lot, and found myself on the open road. Perhaps a hundred feet to the left the path fled across the valley to the country club, and only a little way off was Footbridge over Kazanova Creek. But just as I was about to turn down the path, I heard steps coming towards me, and I shrank into the bushes. It was Drude going back quickly toward the house. I was surprised. I waited until she had had time to get almost to the house before I started, and then I stepped back again into the shadows. The reason why Drude had not captured Trist was evident. Leaning on the parapet of the bridge in the moonlight, and smoking a pipe, was Alex Gardner. I could have thrust Lily for a colonel's in reading the torn note where he could hear, and I could cheerfully have chopped Alex to death for its audacity. But there was no help for it. I turned and followed Drude slowly back to the house. The frequent invasions of the house had effectually prevented any relaxation after us. We had redoubled our vigilance as to bolts and window locks, but, as Mr. Jameson had suggested, we allowed the door at East Entry to remain as before, locked by the A-lock only, to provide only one possible entrance for the invader, and to keep a constant guard in the dark at Footbridge. In the absence of the detective, Alex and Elsie arranged to change off, Elsie to be on duty from 10 to 2, and Alex from 2 until 6. Each man was armed, and, as an additional precaution, the one off duty slept in a room near the head of the Circular Staircase and kept his door open to be ready for the invader. These arrangements were carefully kept from the servants, who were only commencing to sleep at night and retired, one and all, with buried doors and laps that weren't full until morning. The house was quite again Wednesday night. It was almost two weeks since Louis had encountered someone on stairs, and it had been a very long time since he had been in the house. It was almost two weeks since Louis had encountered someone on stairs, and it was four days since the discovery of the hole in the trunk room wall. Arnold Armstrong and his father rested side by side in the Casanova Churchyard, and at the Zion African Church on Hill, a new month marked the last resting place of poor Thomas. Louis was his mother in town, and, beyond the polite note of thanks to me, we had heard nothing from her. Dr. Walker had taken up his practice again, and we saw him now and then, flying past along the road, always at top speed. The murder of Arnold Armstrong was still uneventful, and I remained firm in position I had taken, to stay at sunny side until the things was at least partially cleared. And yet, for all its quiet, it was on a Wednesday night that perhaps boldest of temples made to enter the house. On Thursday afternoon, Blondress was sent word she would like to speak to me, and I saw her in my private sitting-room, a small room beyond those dressing-room. Mary Ann was embarrassed. She had rolled on her sleeves and tied a white apron around her waist, and she stood making folds in it with fingers that were red and shining from her soapsuts. Well, Mary, I said encouragingly, What's the matter? Don't try to tell me the soup is out. No, ma'am, Miss Inns. She had a nervous avid of looking first at my one eye, and then at the other, her own optics shifting scissorsly, right eye, left eye, right eye, until I found myself doing the same thing. No, ma'am. I was asking, did you want leather left up the clothes shoot? The what? I screamed, and was sorry the next minute. Seeing her suspicions were verified, Mary Ann had gone white, and stood with her eyes shifting more wildly than ever. There's a leather up the clothes shoot, Miss Inns. She said, It's up that tight I can't move it, and I didn't like to ask for help until I spoke to you. It was useless to disassemble. Mary Ann knew now as well as I did that leather had no business to be here. I did the best I could, however. I put her under the defensive at once. Then you didn't lock the laundry last night. I locked it tight, and put the key in the kitchen on its nail. Very well, then you forgot your window. Mary Ann exited. Yes, ma'am. She said at last. I thought I locked them all, but there was one open this morning. I went out of the room and down the hall, followed by Mary Ann. The door to the clothes shoot was securely bolted, and when I opened it, I saw the evidence of the woman's story. A pruning leather had been brought from where it had lain against stable, and now stood upright in the clotheshaft, its end resting against the wall between the first and second floors. I turned to Mary. This is due to your carelessness. I said, If you had all been murdered in our beds, it would have been your fault. She shivered. Now, not a word of this threw its house and sent Alex to me. The fact on Alex was to make him a propletic with rage, and he did all I fancy there was an element of satisfaction. As I look back, so many things are plain to me that I wonder I could not see at the time. It is all known now, and yet the whole thing was so remarkable that perhaps my stupidity was excusable. Alex leaned down to shoot and examined the leather carefully. It is caught, he said with a green smile. The fools, to have left a warning like that. The only trouble is, Miss Inns. They won't be apt to come back for a while. I shouldn't regard that in light of a calamity, I replied. Until late that evening, Alex and I worked at the shoot. They threw stones later at last and put a new bolt on the door. As for myself, I sat and wondered if I had a deadly enemy intent on my destruction. I was growing more and more nervous. Lydia had given up all pretence at bravery and slept regularly in my dressing room on the couch with a prayer book and a game knife from the kitchen under her pillow. Thus preparing for both natural and supernatural. That was the way things too that Thursday night, when I myself took a hand in struggle. End of Chapter 22 Chapter 23 of The Circular Staircase This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Chapter 23 While The Stables Burned About nine o'clock that night, Lydia came into the living room and reported that one of the house-bades declared she had seen two men slip around the corner of the stable. Gertrude had been sitting, staring in front of her, jumping at every sound. Now she turned on Lydia pedishly. I had declared, Lydia, she said, You are a bundle of nerves. What if Eliza did see some men around the stable? It may have just been Warner and Alex. Warner is in the kitchen, Miss, said Lydia, with dignity. And if you'd come through what I have, you would be a bundle of nerves too. Miss Rachel, I'll be thankful if you'd give me my month's wages tomorrow. I'll be going to my sister's. Very well, I said, to her evident amazement. I will make out the check. Warner can take you down to the noon train. Lydia's face was really funny. You'll have a nice time at your sister's, I went on. Five children, hasn't she? That's it, Lydia said, suddenly bursting into tears. Send me away after all these years, and your new shawl only half done and no one knowing how to fix the water for your bath. It's time I learned to prepare my own bath. I was knitting complacently. But Gertrude got up and put her arms around Lydia's shaking shoulders. You are too big babies, she said soothingly. Neither one of you could get along for an hour without the other. So stop quarreling and be good. Lydia, go right up and lay out Auntie's night things. She's going to bed early. After Lydia had gone, I began to think about the men at the stable, and I grew more and more anxious. Halsey was aimlessly knocking on the billiard balls around in the billiard room, and I called him. Halsey, I said when he sauntered in. Is there a policeman in Casanova? Constable, he said iconically, veteran of the war, one arm, in office to conciliate the G.A.R. element. Why? Because I am uneasy tonight, and I told him what Lydia had said. Is there anyone you can think of who could be relied on to watch the outside of the house tonight? We might get Sam Bohonin from the club, he said thoughtfully. It wouldn't be a bad scheme. He's a smart darkie, and with his mouth shut and his shirt front covered, you couldn't see him a yard off in the dark. Halsey conferred with Alex, and then the result was in an hour with Sam. His instructions were simple. There had been numerous attempts to break into the house, and it was his intention not to drive intruders away but to capture them. If Sam saw anything suspicious outside, he was to tap at the east entry where Alex and Halsey were to alternate and keeping watch through the night. It was a comfortable feeling of security that I went to bed that night. The door between Gertrude's rooms and mine had been opened, and with the doors at the hall bolted, we were safe enough. Although Lydia persisted in her belief that the doors would prove no obstacles to our disturbors. As before, Halsey watched the east entry from 10 till 2. He had an eye to comfort, and he kept vigil in a heavy oak chair, very large and deep. We went upstairs rather early, and through the open door, Gertrude and I kept up a running fire of conversation. Lydia was brushing my hair, and Gertrude was doing her own, with a long free sweep of her strong round arms. Did you know Miss Armstrong and Louisa in the village? She called. No, I replied, startled. How did you hear it? I met the oldest Stuart girl today, the doctor's daughter, and she told me they had not gone back to town after the funeral. They went directly to that little yellow house next to Dr. Walker's, and are apparently settled there. They took the house furnished for the summer. Why it's such a band box, I said. I can't imagine fanny Armstrong in such a place. It's true, nevertheless. Ella Stewart says that Miss Armstrong is aged terribly, and looks as she is hardly able to walk. I lay and thought over some of these things until midnight. The electric lights went out then, fading slowly, until there was only a red hot loop to be seen in the bulb, and then even that died away, and we were embarked on the darkness of another night. Apparently, only a few minutes elapsed, during which my eyes were becoming accustomed to the darkness. Then I noticed that the windows were reflecting a faint pinkish light. Liddy noticed it at the same time, and I heard her jump up. At that moment, Sam's deep voice booned from somewhere below. Fire, he yelled. The stable's on fire. I could see him in the glare dancing up and down in the drive. And a moment later, Halsey joined him. Alex was awake and running down the stairs, and in five minutes from the time the fire was discovered, three of the maids were sitting on their trunks in the drive, although, accepting a few sparks, there was no fire nearer than a hundred yards. Gertrude seldom loses her presence of mind, and she ran to the telephone, but by the time the Castanova Volunteer Fire Department came toiling up the hill, the stable was a furnace, with the dragonfly safe but blistered in the road. Some gasoline exploded just as the volunteer department got to work, which shook their nerves as well as the burning building. The stable, being on a hill, was a torch to attract the population from every direction. Rumor had it that the sunny side was burning, and that it was amazing how many people threw something over their nightclothes and flew to the conflagration. I take it that Castanova has few fires, and sunny side was furnishing the people in one way or another the greatest excitement they had had for years. The stable was off the west wing. I hardly know how it came to think of the circular staircase in the unguarded door at its foot. Liddy was putting my clothes into the sheets, preparatory to tossing them out the window, when I found her and could hardly persuade her to stop. I want you to come with me, Liddy, I said, bring a candle and a couple of blankets. She lagged behind considerably when she saw me making for the east wing at the top of the staircase she balked. I'm not going down there, she said firmly. There is no one guarding the door down there, I explained. Who knows, this may be a scheme to draw everyone away from this end of the house and let someone in here. The instant I had said it, I was convinced I had hit on the explanation, and that perhaps it was already too late. It seemed to me as I listened that I heard stealthy footsteps on the east porch. There was so much shouting outside it was impossible to tell. Liddy was on the point of retreat. Very well, I said, then I shall go down alone, run back to Mr. Halsey's room and get his revolver. Don't shoot down the stairs if you hear a noise, remember I shall be down here. And hurry! I put the candle on the floor at the top of the staircase and took off my bedroom slippers. Then I crept down the stairs, going very slowly and listening with all my ears. I was keyed to such a pitch that I felt no fear like the condemned who sleep and eat the night before execution. I was no longer able to suffer apprehension. I was past that. Just at the foot of the stairs I stepped my toe against Halsey's big chair and had to stand on one foot and sound on the sagony until the pain subsided to a dull ache. Then I knew I was right. For someone who put a key into the lock and was turning it, for some reason it refused to work and the key was withdrawn. There was a muttering of voices outside. I had only a second. Another trial in the door would be open. The candle above made a faint gleam down the well-liked staircase. And in that moment, with a second, no more to spare, I thought of a plan. The heavy oak chair almost filled the space between the nule post and the door. With a crash, I turned it on its side, wedging it against the door, its legs against the stairs. I could hear a faint scream from Liddy at the crash and then she came down the stairs in a run with a revolver held straight out in front of her. Thank God, she said in a shaking voice, I thought it was you. I pointed to the door and she understood. Call out the windows at the other end of the house, I whispered, Run, tell them not to wait for anything. She went up the stairs at that, two at a time. Evidently, she collided with the candle for it went out and I was left in the darkness. I was really astonishingly cool. I remember stepping over the chair and gluing my ear to the door, and I shall never forget feeling it gave an inch or two there in the darkness under a steady pressure for without. But the chair held, though I could hear an ominous cracking of one of the legs. And then, without the slightest warning, the card room window broke with a crash. I had my finger on the trigger of the revolver and I jumped it, went off, right through the door. Someone outside swore roundly and for the first time, he had to hear what was said. Only a scratch, men are at the other end of the house, have the whole rat's nest on us, and a lot of profanity which I couldn't write down. The voices were at the broken window now and although I was trembling violently, I determined that I would hold them until help came. I moved up the stairs till I could see into the card room, or rather through it to the window. As I looked, a small man put his leg over the seal and stepped into the room. The curtain confused him for a moment. They turned not towards me, but towards the billiard room door. I fired again as something that was glass or china crashed to the ground. Then I ran up the stairs and along the corridor to the main staircase. Gertrude was standing there, trying to locate the shots, and I must have been a peculiar figure, with my hair in crimps, my dressing gown flying no slippers, and her revolver clutched into my hands. I had no time to talk. There was the sound of footsteps in the lower hall and someone bounded up the stairs. I'd gone berserk, I think. I leaned over the stairwell and fired again. Halsey below yelled at me. What are you doing up there? He yelled. You missed me by an inch. And then I collapsed and fainted. When I came round, Liddy was rubbing my temples with eudate quinine, and the search was in full blast. Well, the man was gone. The stable burned to the ground, while the crowd cheered at every falling rafter in the volunteer fire department sprayed it with a garden hose. And in the house, Alex and Halsey searched every corner of the lower floor, finding no one. The truth of my story was shown by the broken window in the overturned chair, that the unknown had got upstairs was almost impossible. He had not used the main staircase and there was no way to the upper floor on the east wing, and Liddy had been at the window in the west wing where the servant's stair went up. But we did not go to bed at all. Sam Bohann and Warner helped in the search and not a closet escaped scrutiny. Even the cellars were given a thorough overhauling without result. The door in the east entry had a hole through it where my bullet had gone. The hole slanted downward and the bullet was embedded in the porch. Some reddish stains around it had done execution. Somebody will walk lame, Halsey said, when he had marked the course of the bullet, as too low to have hit anything with a leg or foot. From that time, I watched every person I met for a limp. And to this day, the man who halts in his walk is an object of suspicion to me. But Casanova had no lame men. The nearest approach to it was an old fellow who tended the safety gates at the railroad. And he, I learned on inquiry, had two artificial legs. Our man had gone and the large and expensive table at Sunnyside was a heap of smoking rafters and charred boards. Warner swore the fire was incendiary and in view of the attempt to enter the house, there seemed to be no doubt of it. End of Chapter 23, The Circular Staircase, by Mary Roberts Reinhardt. Chapter 24 of The Circular Staircase This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Ian Skillan. The Circular Staircase, by Mary Roberts Reinhardt. Chapter 24, Flinders If Halsey had only taken me fully into his confidence through the whole affair, it would have been much simpler. If he had been altogether frank about Jack Bailey and if the day after the fire he had told me what he had suspected, there would have been no harrowing period for all of us with the boy in danger. But young people refuse to profit by the experience of their elders and sometimes the elders are the ones to suffer. I was much used up the day after the fire and Gertrude and sister were my going out. The machine was temporarily out of commission and the carriage horses had been sent to a farm for the summer. Gertrude finally got a trap from the Casanova liveryman and we went out. Just as we turned from the drive into the road we passed a woman. She had put down a small valise and stood inspecting the house and grounds minutely. I should hardly have noticed her had it not been for the fact that she had been horribly disfigured by a smallpox. Oh, Gertrude said when we passed, what a face. I shall dream of it tonight. Get up, Flinders. Flinders, I said. Is that the horse's name? It is. She flipped the horse's stubbly mane with the whip. He didn't look like a livery horse and the liveryman said he had bought him from the Armstrongs when they purchased a couple of motors and cut down the stable. Nice, Flinders. Good old boy. Flinders was certainly not a common name for a horse and yet the youngster at Richfield had named his prancing, curly-haired little horse, Flinders. It set me to thinking. In my request, Halsey had already sent word of the fire to the agent from whom we had secured the house. Also, he had called Mr. Jameson by telephone and somewhat guardedly had told him of the previous night's events. Mr. Jameson promised to come out that night and to bring another man with him. I didn't consider it necessary to notify Mrs. Armstrong and the village. No doubt she knew of the fire and a view of my refusal to give up the house. An interview would probably have been unpleasant enough. But as we passed Dr. Waters, white and green house, I thought of something. Stop here, Gertrude, I said. I'm going to get out. To see Louise, she asked. No. I want to ask this young walker something. She was curious, I knew, but I didn't wait to explain. I went up the walk to the house with a brass sign at the side announced the office and went in. The reception room was empty, but from the consulting room beyond came the sound of two voices, not very amicable. It's an outrageous figure someone was storming. Then the doctor's quiet tone, evidently not arguing, merely stating something. But I hadn't time to listen to some person probably disputing his bill, so I coughed. The voices ceased at once, my door closed somewhere, and the doctor entered from the hall of the house. He looked sufficiently surprised at seeing me. Good afternoon, doctor, I said firmly. I shall not keep you from your patient. I wish merely to ask you a question. Won't you sit down? It will not be necessary. Doctor, has anyone come to you either early this morning or today to have you treat a bullet wound? Oh, nothing so startling as happened to me. You said, a bullet wound? Things must be lively at Sunnyside. I didn't say it was Sunnyside. But as it happens, it was. If any such case comes to you, will it be too much trouble for you to let me know? Well, I shall be only too happy, you said. I understand you had rather a fire up there too. A fire and shooting in one night is rather lively for a quiet place like that. As there's quiet in a boiler shop, I replied, as I turned to go. Are you still going to stay? Until I'm burned out, I responded. And then, on my way down the steps, I turned around suddenly. Doctor, I asked at a venture. Have you ever heard of a child named Lucy and Wallace? Clever as he was, his face changed and stiffened. He was on his guard again in a moment. Lucy and Wallace, he repeated. No, I think not. There are plenty of Wallace's around, but I don't know any Lucy in. I was as certain as possible that he did. People do not lie readily to me, and this man lied beyond a doubt. But there was nothing to begin now. His defences were up when I left. Half irritated and wholly baffled. Our reception was entirely different to Doctor Stewart's. Taken into the bosom of the family at once, flinders tied outside and nibbling the grass at the roadside, Gertrude and I drank some homemade elderberry wine and told briefly of the fire. Of the more serious part of the night's experience, of course, we said nothing. But when at last we'd left our family on the porch and the good Doctor was untying our steed, I asked him the same question I'd put to Doctor Walker. Shorts, he said. Bless my soul, no. Why, what have you been doing up at the big house, Miss Innes? Someone tried to enter the house during the fire and was shot and slightly injured, I said. Hesley, please don't mention it. We wish to make as little of it as possible. There was one other possibility, and we tried that. At Casanova Station, I saw the stationmaster and asked him if any trains left Casanova between one o'clock in daylight. There was none until six a.m. The next question required more diplomacy. Did you notice in the six o'clock train any person, any man who limped a little last? Please try to remember, we're trying to trace a man who was seen loitering around Sunnyside last night before the fire. Oh, he was all attention in a moment. I was up there myself at the fire, he said, voluably. I'm a member of the volunteer company. First big fire we've had since the summer house burned down over at the golf club links. My wife was saying the other day, Dave, you might as well have saved the money in that there helmet and shirt. And here, last night, they come in handy, rang that bell so hard I hadn't time scarcely to get them on. And did you see a man who limped? Gertrude put in as he stopped for breath. Oh, none at the train, man, he said. No such person got on here today. But I'll tell you where I did see a man that limped. I didn't wait till the fire company left. As a fast rate goes through at 4.45 and I had to get down to the station. I seen there wasn't much more to do. Anyhow at the fire, we got the flames under control. Gertrude looked at me and smiled. So I started down the hill. There was folks here and going home and along by the path to the country club I seen two men. One was a short fellow. He was sitting on a big rock. He's back to me and he had something white in his hand as if it was tying up his foot. After I got on, a piece of looked back and he was hobbling on and, well, excuse me, miss, he was swearing something sickening. Did he go towards the club? Gertrude, I suddenly leaning forward. No, miss, I think they came into the village. I didn't get a look at their faces but I know every chicken child in the place and everybody knows me. When they didn't shout at me in my uniform, you know, I took it, they were strangers. So all we had for our afternoon's work was this. Someone had been shot by the bullet that went through the door. He had not left the village and he had not called in a physician. Also, Dr Walker knew who Lucien Wallace was and his very denial made me confident that in one direction at least we were on the right track. The thought that a detective would be there that night was the most cheering of all and I think even Gertrude was glad of it. Driving home that afternoon, I saw her in the clear sunlight for the first time in several days and I was startled to see how else she looked. She was thin and colourless and all her bright animation was gone. Gertrude said, having a very selfish old woman, you are going to leave this miserable house tonight. Annie Morton is going to Scotland next week and you shall go right with her. To my surprise, she flushed painfully. I don't want to go untrained, she said. Don't make me leave now. You're losing your health and your good looks, I said decidedly, you should have a change. I shan't stir a foot, she was equally decided. Then more likely, why you and Liddy need me to arbitrate between you every day in the week. Perhaps I was growing suspicious of everyone but it seemed to me that Gertrude's gait he was forced and artificial. I watched her covertly during the rest of the drive and I didn't like the two spots of crimson and her pale cheeks. But I said nothing more about sending up to Scotland I knew she wouldn't go. End of chapter 24, Recording by Ian Skillen The Circular Staircase by Mary Roberts Reinhardt Chapter 25, A Visit from Louise That day was destined to be an eventful one for when I entered the house and found Eliza ensconced in the upper hall on a chair with Mary Ann doing her best to stifle her with household ammonia and Liddy rubbing her wrists whatever good that is supposed to do I knew that the ghost had been walking again and this time in daylight. Eliza was in a frenzy of fear. She clashed at my sleeve when I went close to her and refused to let go until she had told me her story. Coming just after the fire the household was demoralized and it was no surprise to me to find Alex and the under gardener struggling downstairs with a heavy trunk between them. I didn't want to do it Miss Einz, Alex said but she was so excited. I was afraid she would do as she said drag it down herself and scratch the staircase. I was trying to get my bonnet off and to keep the maid's quiet at the same time. Now Eliza when you have washed your face and stopped bawling I said come into my sitting room and tell me what has happened. Liddy put away my things without speaking. The very set of her shoulders expressed disapproval. Well I said when the silence became uncomfortable things seemed to be warming up. Silence from Liddy and a long sigh. If Eliza goes I don't know where to look for another cook. More silence. Rosie is probably a good cook. Sniff. Liddy I said at last don't dare to deny that you are having the time of your life. You positively gloat in this excitement. You never looked better. It's my opinion all this running around and getting jolted out of her rut has stirred up that torped liver of yours. It's not myself I'm thinking about she said go did into speech. Maybe my liver was torped and maybe it wasn't but I know this. I have got some feelings left and to see you standing at the foot of that staircase shooting through the door. I'll never be the same woman again. Well I'm glad of that. Anything for a change I said. An in game Eliza flanked my Rosie and Marianne. Her story broken with sobs and corrections from the other two was this. At 2 o'clock to 15 Rosie insisted she had gone upstairs to get a picture from her room to show Marianne. A picture of a lady Marianne interposed. She went up the servant's staircase and along the corridor to her room which lay between the trunk room and the unfinished ballroom. She heard a sound as she went down the corridor like someone moving furniture but she was not nervous. She thought it might be the men examining the house after the fire the night before but she looked into the trunk room and saw nobody. She went into her room quietly. The noise had ceased and everything was quiet. Then she sat down on the side of her bed and feeling faint she was subject to spells. I told you that when I came didn't I Rosie? Yes. Hmm indeed she did. She put down her head on her pillow and took a nap. All right I said go on. When I came to Miss Aynes sure as I'm sitting here I thought I'd die. Something hit me on the face and I sat up sudden and then I seen the plaster drop dropping from a little hole in the wall. And the first thing I knew an iron bar that long fully two yards by her measure shot through that hole and tumbled on the bed. If I'd still be sleeping fainting corrected Rosie I'd have been hit on the head and killed. I wished you'd heard her scream put in Marianne and her face as white as a pillow slip when she tumbled down the stairs. No doubt there is some natural explanation for this Eliza I said. You may have dreamt it in your fainting attack. But if it is true the metal rod and the hole in the wall will show it. Eliza looked a little bit sheepish. The holes there all right Miss Aynes she said. But the bar was gone when Marianne and Rosie went up to pack my trunk. That wasn't all. Liddy's voice came funerally from a corner. Eliza said that from the hole in the wall a burning eye looked down at her. The wall must be at least six inches thick I said with asperity. Unless the person who drilled the hole carried his eyes on the ends of a stick Eliza couldn't possibly have seen them. But the fact remained and a visit to Eliza's room proved it. I'm a jeer all I wished. Someone had drilled a hole in the unfinished wall of the ballroom passing between the bricks of the partition and shooting through the unresisting plaster of Eliza's room with such force as to send the rod flying on to her bed. I had gone upstairs alone and I confess the thing puzzled me. In two or three places in the wall small apertures had been made. None of them of any depth. Not the least mysterious thing was the disappearance of the iron implement that had been used. I remembered a story I read once about an impish dwarf that lived in the spaces between the double walls of an ancient castle. I wondered vaguely if my original idea of a secret entrance to a hidden chamber could be right after all and if we were housing some erratic guest who played pranks on us in the dark and destroyed the walls that he might listen hidden safely away to our amazed investigations. Marianne and Eliza left that afternoon but Rosie decided to stay. It was about five o'clock when the hack came from the station to get them and to my amazement it had an occupant. Matthew Geist the driver asked me and explained his errand with pride. I have brought you a coke missus he said. When the message came to come up for two girls and their trunks I supposed there was something doing and as this year woman had been looking for work in the village I thought I'd bring her along. Already I had acquired the true suburbanite ability to take servants on faith. I no longer demanded written and unimpeachable references. I, Rachel Eines, have learned not to mind if the coke sits down comfortably in my sitting room when she is taking the orders for the day and I'm grateful if the silver is not cleaned with the scarring soap. So that day I merely told the day to send the new applicant in. When she came however I could hardly restrain a gasp of surprise. It was the woman with the pitted face. She stood somewhat awkwardly just inside the door and she had an air of self confidence that was inspiring. Yes she could cook. Was not a fancy cook but could make good soups and deserts if there was anyone to take charge of the salads. And so in the end I took her. As Halsey said when we told him it didn't matter much about the cook's face if it was clean. I have spoken of Halsey's restlessness on that day it seemed to be more than ever a restless impulse that kept him out until after luncheon. I think he hoped constantly that he might meet Louise driving over the hills in her runabout. Possibly he did meet her occasionally but from his continued gloom I felt sure the situation between them was unchanged. Part of the afternoon I believe he read Gertrude and I were out as I have said and at dinner we both noticed that something had occurred to distract him. He was disagreeable which is unlike him. Nervous looking at his watch every few minutes and he ate almost nothing. He asked twice during the meal on what train Mr. Jameson and the other detective were coming and had long periods of abstraction during which he dug his fork into my damask cloth and did not hear what he was spoken to. He refused as it and left the table early excusing himself on the ground that he wanted to see Alex. Alex however was not to be found. It was after eight when Halsey ordered the car and started down the hill at a pace that even for him was unusually reckless. Shortly after Alex reported that he was ready to go over the house preparatory to closing it for the night. Sam Bohannon Sam Bohannon came at a quarter before nine and became his patrol of the grounds and with the arrival of the two detectives to look forward to it was not especially apprehensive. At half past nine I heard the sound of a horse driven furiously up the drive. It came to a stop in front of the house and immediately after there were hurried steps on the veranda. Our nerves were not what they should have been and Gertrude always apprehensive lately was at the door almost instantly. A moment later Louise had burst into the room and stood there bareheaded and breathing hard. Where is Halsey? She demanded. Above her plain black gown her eyes looked big and somber and the rapid drive had brought no color to her face. I got up and drew forward a chair. He has not come back I said quietly. Sit down child you're not strong enough for this kind of thing. I don't think she even heard me. He has not come back. She asked looking from me to Gertrude. Do you know where he went? Where can I find him? For heaven's sake Louise Gertrude burst out. Tell us what is wrong. Halsey is not here. He has gone to the station for Mr. Jameson. What has happened? To the station Gertrude? Are you sure? Yes I said. Listen there is the whistle of the train now. She relaxed a little at our matter of fact tone and allowed herself to sink into a chair. Perhaps I was wrong she said heavily. He will be here in a few moments if everything is right. We sat there the three of us without attempt at conversation. Both Gertrude and I recognized the futility of asking Louise any questions. Her reticence was a part of a role she had assumed. Our ears were strained for the first throb of the motor as it turned into the drive and commenced the climb to the house. Ten minutes passed. Fifteen. Twenty. I saw Louise's hands grow rigid as they clutched the arms of her chair. I watched Gertrude's bright colors slowly being away and around my own heart I seemed to feel the grasp of a giant hand. Twenty-five minutes and then a sound. But it was not the chug of the motor. It was the unmistakable rumble of the Casanova hack. Gertrude drew aside the curtain and peered into the darkness. It's the hack, I'm sure she said, evidently relieved. Something has gone wrong with the car and no wonder the way Halsey went down the hill. It seemed a long time before the creaking vehicle came to a stop at the door. Louise rose and stood watching, her hand to her throat. And then Gertrude opened the door, admitting Mr. Jameson and a stocky middle-aged man. Halsey was not with them. When the door had closed and Louise realized that Halsey had not come, her expression changed, from tense watchfulness to relief and now again to absolute despair. Her face was an open page. Halsey, I asked unceremoniously, ignoring the stranger. Did he not meet you? No. Mr. Jameson looked slightly surprised. I rather expected the car, but we got up all right. You didn't see him at all. Louise demanded breathlessly. Mr. Jameson knew her at once. Although he had not seen her before, she had kept to her rooms until the morning she left. No, Miss Armstrong, he said. I saw nothing of him. What is wrong? Then we shall have to find him, she asserted. Every instant is precious. Mr. Jameson, I have reason for believing that he is in danger, but I don't know what it is. Only he must be found. The stocky man said nothing. Now, however, he went quickly towards the door. I'll catch the hack down the road and hold it, he said. Is the gentleman down in their town? Mr. Jameson, Louise said impulsively. I can use the hack. Take my horse and trap outside and drive it like mad. Try to find the dragonfly. It ought to be easy to trace. I can think of no other way. Only don't lose a moment. The new detective had gone, and a moment later, Jameson went rapidly down the drive. The cops feed striking fire at every step. Louise stood looking after them. When she turned around, she faced Gertrude, who stood indignant, almost tragic in the hall. You know what threatens Halsey, Louise, she said accusingly. I believe you know this whole horrible thing, this mystery that we are struggling with. If anything happens to Halsey, I shall never forgive you. Louise only raised her hands despairingly and dropped them again. He is as dear to me as he is to you, she said sadly. I tried to warn him. Nonsense, I said, as briskly as I could. We are making a lot out of trouble, out of something perhaps very small. Halsey was probably late. He is always late. Any moment we may hear the car coming up the road. But it did not come. After a half hour of suspense, Louise went out quietly and did not come back. I hardly knew she was gone until I heard the station hack moving off. At 11 o'clock, the telephone rang. It was Mr. Jameson. I have found the dragonfly in the signs, he said. It has collided with a freight car on the siding above the station. No, Mr. Iyens was not there, but we shall probably find him. Send Warner for the car. But they did not find him. At 4 o'clock the next morning, we were still waiting for the news while Alex washed the house and sammed the grounds. At daylight, I dropped into exhausted sleep. Halsey had not come back. And there was no word from the detective. End of chapter 25