The House of Mystery

by Will Irwin

  IX

  ROSALIE'S SECOND REPORT

  As though to prove her maxim, "Nothing turns out the way you expectit," Rosalie, on her second Tuesday off, failed to meet her anxiousyoung employer in the ladies' parlor of the Hotel Greenwich. Insteadcame a page, calling "Dr. Blake!" It was a note--"Stuyvesant Fish Parkas soon as you get this. R. Le G.," it read. Dr. Blake leaped into ataxicab and hurried to the rendezvous. He spied her on a park bench,watching with interest the maneuvers of the little Russian girls, asthey swarmed over the rocker swings. Even before he came withinspeaking distance of her, he perceived that something must havehappened--read it in her attitude, her manner of one who lulls asuppressed excitement. When she turned to answer his quick "Mme. LeGrange!" her cheeks carried a faint color, and her gray eyes wereshining. But her face was serious, too; her dimples, barometer of hergayer emotions, never once rippled. Before he was fairly seated, shetumbled out the news in a rush:

  "Well! I never was more fooled in my life!"

  "She's a fraud!" He jumped joyously to conclusions. "You can prove it!"

  Rosalie put a slender finger to her lips.

  "Not so loud. Yids have ears. I ain't dead sure of anything now. Iain't even sure she don't have me followed when I leave the house.That's why I sent for you to change meeting places. There's nothing assafe as outdoors, because you can watch the approaches."

  "But is she a fake? Can you prove it?" persisted Dr. Blake.

  "I'm a woman," responded Rosalie Le Grange, "not a newspaper reporter.I can't tell my story in a headline before I git to it. I've got to gomy own gait or I can't go at all. Now you listen and don't interrupt,or I'll explode. It goes back, anyhow, into our last talk.

  "I was comin' downstairs in the afternoon a week ago Thursday, and Isaw Ellen let in a man. Good-looking man. Good dresser. Seemed aboutthirty-five till you looked over his hands and the creases around hiseyes, when you saw he was risin' forty-five if a day. Stranger, Iguess, for Ellen kept him waiting in the hall. He read the papers whilehe waited, and he didn't look at nothing but the financial columns. Itook it from that, he was in Wall Street, though you can't never tellin New York, where they all play the market or the ponies. I didn'twait to size him up real careful; that wouldn't do. I just passed ondown to the pantry and then passed back again. He was still there. Thistime he had put up his newspapers, and he was looking over some pencilnotes on that yellow legal cap paper. He didn't hear me until I wasclose on him, the rugs in the hall are that big and soft. But when Idid get close, he jumped like I had caught him in something crooked andmade like he was goin' to hide the sheets. Of course, I didn't look athim, but just kept right on upstairs. When I turned into the secondfloor, I heard Ellen say, 'Mrs. Markham will receive you.' I didn't payno attention to that at the time. It was only one of twenty littlethings I remembered. Stayed in the back of my head, waitin' to tie upwith something else.

  "Come Tuesday--week ago to-day and my afternoon off. I was comin' homeearly, about nine o'clock. I've got front door privileges, but Igenerally use the servants' entrance just the same. Right ahead of me,a green automobile with one of those limousine bodies drove up to thefront door. It's dark down in the area by the servants' entrance. Istopped like I was huntin' through my skirt for my key, and looked. Outof the automobile come a man. He turned around to speak to thechauffeur and I got the light on his face. _Who_ do you suppose it was?Robert H. Norcross!"

  "The railroad king?"

  Rosalie pursed her lips and nodded wisely.

  "How did you know? You've never seen him before."

  "Ain't it my business to know the faces of everybody? What do I readthe personals in the magazines for? You'd know Theodore Roosevelt ifyou saw him first time, wouldn't you? But I made surer than that. Nextday I matched the number of his automobile with the automobileregister. That number belongs to Robert H. Norcross."

  Dr. Blake whistled.

  "Playing for big game!" he said.

  "That was what struck me," said Rosalie, "and while it wasn'timpossible that this Mr. Norcross might have a straight interest in thespirit world--well, when you see big medium and big money together, itlooks like big _fake_. And there was the man with the notes who readthe financial pages--he jumped back into my mind.

  "The servants' entrance comes out through the kitchen onto the secondfloor. When I come into the hall, Ellen was waiting for me. She wastiptoeing and whispering.

  "'Mrs. Markham,' she says, 'wanted that I should tell you she hassitters unexpected. There's some of her devil doin's going ondownstairs to-night. She wanted me to catch you when you came in andask you to go very quiet to your room.'

  "While I went upstairs, I listened hard. Just before I came out on thelanding of the servants' hall, I heard a bell ring, away down below.Just a little ring--b-r-r. Now, you know if there's one thing more 'nanother that I've got, it's ears--and ears that remember, too. I hadn'tbeen a day in that house when I knew every bell in it and who wasringin' besides. This wasn't any of 'em. But that wasn't the funnything. _It lasted just about as long as my foot rested on a step of thestairs_. I didn't make the break of going back and ringin' again; but Iremembered that step--third from the top.

  "'T ain't easy to admit you've been fooled, and 't ain't easy to giveup somebody you've believed in. I couldn't have slept that night evenif I'd wanted. I opened the registers in my room, because openregisters help you to hear things, and sat in the darkness. I couldcatch that the sitting was over, because the front door slammed. ThenEllen came upstairs, and the bell rang b-r-r again. I could hearsomeone come upstairs to the second floor, where Mrs. Markham and thegirl have their rooms. I listened for that bell when she struck thestairs. I couldn't hear nothing. The current has been switched off,thinks I. Maybe it was ten minutes later when I got a faint kind ofthud, like somebody had let down a folding bed, though there ain't aone of those man-killers in our house. Sort of stirred up arecollection, that sound. I lay puzzling, and the answer came like aflash. Worst fake outfit I ever had anything to do with was Vango'sSpirit Thought Institute in St. Paul. I've told you before how ashamedI am of that. I left because there's some kinds of work I won't standfor. Well, he used a ceiling trap for his materializin'; though thewainscot is a sight better and more up-to-date in my experience. Whenhe let it drop careless, in practicing before the seance, it used tomake a noise like that. I fell asleep by-and-bye; and out of my dreams,which was troubled and didn't bring nothing definite, I got the generalimpression that Mrs. Markham wasn't all right and that I'd been fooled.

  "Mrs. Markham and the little girl went to the matinee next afternoon.Now I'm comin' to her. You let me tell this story _my_ way. The cookwas bakin' in the kitchen, Ellen the parlor maid, who had to stay hometo answer bells, was gossipin' with her. Martin was cleanin' out thefurnace. I had the run of the house. First thing I looked at was thethird step from the top of the stairs. I worked out two tacks in thecarpet--wasn't much trouble; they come out like they was used to it. Ipulled the carpet sideways. Sure enough, there was a wide crack justbelow the step, and when I peeked in, I could see the electricconnections. Question was, where was the bell? But I had something tothink of first. Where would Mrs. Markham have a cabinet if she everdone materializin'? I had thought that all out--a little alcove libraryin the rear of the back parlor. Give you plenty of room, when thefolding doors were open, for lights and effects. If there _was_ aceiling trap, it must be in the rooms above. I went into--into therooms"--here Rosalie paused an infinitesimal second as though making amental shift--"into the room above. Just over the alcove library is asmall sittin'-room. The--a bedroom opens off it--but has nothing to dowith the case. It's one of those new-fangled bare floor rooms. Rightover the cabinet space was a big rug. I pulled it aside and priedaround with a hair pin until I found a loose nail."

  "I WAS LOOKING STRAIGHT DOWN ON THE BACK PARLORS"]

  Rosalie paused for breath before she resumed:

  "I went over the house again to be sure I was alone, before I pulledout the nail. W
ell, sir, what happened like to knocked me over. Theminute that nail come out, a trap rose right up--on springs. I justcaught it in time to stop it from making a racket. I was lookingstraight down on the back parlors. It's one of those flossy, ornamentedceilings down there, and a panel of those ceiling ornaments came upwith the bottom of the trap. But that wasn't the funny thing about thattrap, nice piece of work as it was. It's a regular cupboard. Double,you understand. Space in between--and all the fixings for amaterializin' seance, the straight fixings that the dope sees and thecrooked ones that only the medium and the spook sees, tucked inside. Ashutter lamp, blue glass--a set of gauze robes, phosphorescent starsand crescents, a little rope ladder all curled up--and whole books ofnotes. Right on top was"--she paused impressively to get suspense forher climax--"was them notes on yellow foolscap that I seen in the handsof the visitor last week. And"--another impressive pause--"they're thedope for Robert H. Norcross!"

  "The what?"

  "The full information on him--dead sweetheart, passed out thirty yearsago up-state. Fine job with good little details--whoever got 'em must'a' talked with somebody that was right close to her--an old aunt, I'mthinking. But no medium made them notes. Looks like a privatedetective's work. Not a bit of professional talk. The notes on RobertH. Norcross. See!"

  Dr. Blake, whose face had lightened more and more as he listened,jumped up and grasped Rosalie's hand.

  "Didn't I tell you!" he cried. "Didn't I tell you!"

  But she failed to respond to his enthusiasm. She turned on him a graveface; and her eyes shone.

  "What I'm wondering," she said, "is who plays her spook? 'Cause if shehas a trap, she uses confederates, and it can't be none of theservants, unless I'm worse fooled on that little Ellen than ever I wason Mrs. Markham. That's the next thing to consider."

  "Does look curious," replied Dr. Blake, "but of course you can betrusted to discover that! But about Annette?"

  "Something's a little wrong there," responded Rosalie. "Quiet, anddopey, and strange. That,"--her voice fell to soft contemplation,--"isanother thing to find out."

  "We must get her out of there!" he exploded; "away from that vampire!"

  "Well, that's what I'm takin' your money for, ain't it?" respondedRosalie.

  After they parted Rosalie Le Grange stood on a corner, among thepush-cart peddlers and the bargaining wives, and watched Dr. Blake'staxicab disappear down Stanton Street.

  "Ain't it funny?" she said half aloud, "that a smart young man like himnever thought to ask whose room it was I found the trap in?"