Chapter 5
For three quarters of an hour, Eugene made it lively for his family. He stalked upstairs, captured his pampered young son in the act of purloining one of his clean handkerchiefs, gave him a cuff on the ear, and ordered him in no gentle tones to go to one end of the village as fast as his legs could fly and find out if Joyce was at Auntie Summers’s or had been there, and demand her presence at home at once on important business. He jerked a library book away from his daughter and sent her to the other end of town to make the same inquiry at a home where Joyce had been a frequent visitor, and then he strode to his own door and shook it, demanding entrance in such a tone that Nannette dared not ignore it. He gave his hysterical wife a rough shake and told her it was not time to indulge her temper, that action was necessary. She must get to work on the telephone at once and find Joyce. They must meet that appointment at Judge Peterson’s on the hour or they might lose everything. The son had said that his father was very insistent about having Joyce present when he read the will. It would look very strange if Joyce didn’t turn up in time.
He succeeded in frightening Nannette sufficiently so that she wiped her eyes and went to the telephone, calling up one and another of Joyce’s friends and in honeyed tones asking if she had stopped there on her way home and might she speak to her a minute; there was an errand she wanted done on the way back that couldn’t wait. But one and all said that Joyce had not been there that day, and two women answered, “Why, I heard Joyce had gone away on a visit,” so that Nannette turned from her fruitless task at last with a much-disturbed face.
“She isn’t in town,” she said. “There isn’t another place I can think of to call.”
“Well, think of all the places out of town, then; find out where she is, and I’ll get an automobile and go after her. Little fool! She knew she was making me a lot of trouble. She did this on purpose, I’ll wager. But she’ll get paid back double for all she does. Just let her wait.” Eugene was stamping up and down and suggesting places to call while his wife, with more and more agitated voice, continued to call up numbers.
“I’m almost sure that operator is Jenny Lowe,” she said with her hand over the mouthpiece of the telephone. “If it is, she’ll tell it everywhere that I’ve called all these numbers. She’s probably listening in.”
“Jenny Lowe be hanged!” said Eugene. “We’ve got to find Joyce! Look at the clock! It’s half past six. Call Aunt Whinnie’s.”
Nannette called Aunt Whinnie’s but got no answer, and while she was still trying to get it, Dorothea came panting back, saying that Joyce hadn’t been heard of anywhere, and the teacher and the superintendent were just coming into the yard.
Eugene went frowning to the front door and disposed of the new superintendent in short order, saying that his cousin had been suddenly called away and he was not sure how soon she would return. She might be gone several days. He intimated that she had gone to visit a sick relative, but when the young man got his pencil and notebook and asked for her address, he replied vaguely that he was not quite sure whether she would remain more than a few hours where she had gone and she might make several visits before her return. But the young superintendent was not one who was easily baffled and asked for all the addresses, whereupon Eugene was put to the trouble of making up an address. It was rather hard on him, for he had been brought up not to tell lies, and he always tried to avoid deliberate ones, but this time he felt he was in a bad corner and had to get out somehow. The hand of his watch said a quarter to seven, and he must get rid of these callers. What in Sam Hill did this young upstart want of Joyce anyway?
But the young upstart turned gravely away without imparting his business, and Eugene shut the door with unnecessary slamming and went back to his wife. “We’ll just have to go over to the judge’s and do the best we can. We’d better fix up some story about Joyce. Perhaps we can get around the old man. We’ll tell him we’ve had an offer for the house and we want to close with it right away. Man going to Europe and wants to get this property fixed up for a relative to live in. How’ll that do? Then we can find a purchaser and get this house off our hands. I’d rather go back to Chicago anyway, wouldn’t you, and get out of this rotten town where everybody’s nose is in your business and the minister thinks he owns the earth and can boss it. I’d like to know what business of his it was to come after Joyce anyway. Doesn’t he think we can take care of our own relatives without his intervention?”
At the door, a small girl with tangled curls and big blue eyes presented a note that she said was to be given to Miss Joyce and “not to nobody else,” and which she steadily refused to surrender even for a glimpse until Miss Joyce should be forthcoming. There was something strong-willed and characterful in the very swing of her little gingham petticoats as she swung sturdily down the front path and out the gate with the note still clasped to her bosom. Eugene called Dorothea to the front window to identify her, and Miss Dorothea lifted her nose contemptuously. “Oh, that’s Darcy Sherwood’s niece, Lib Knox. She’s a tomboy. She can throw mud just like the boys, and once she tied a string across the sidewalk and tripped our teacher and she fell flat, because our teacher told her she was too dirty to come in the school yard. She’s only six, but she’s awful bad!”
Dorothea said it virtuously and licked her lips to hide the jelly she had been eating out of a new tumbler she had just opened.
Darcy Sherwood! What had Darcy Sherwood to do with Joyce? Could that have been Darcy’s voice over the phone that morning?
Eugene was silent and thoughtful during their walk to Judge Peterson’s and strode so fast that Nannette could scarcely keep pace with him. As they waited after ringing the old-fashioned doorbell, he looked down frowning and admonished his wife, “Now, don’t you be a fool and spill the beans.”
They were ushered into the judge’s room, where he lay propped up by pillows in a great old sleigh bed, with his wife on one side fanning him gently, and his son sitting by the window with some papers in his hands. But as soon as they were seated, the judge’s eyes looked toward the door restlessly, and his big voice, which had lost none of its brusqueness with his illness, although it quavered a little with weakness, asked, “Where’s Joyce? Didn’t you bring the little girl?”
Nannette looked frightened and turned toward her husband to take the initiative, and Eugene hastened to explain that Joyce hadn’t been feeling well since the funeral, and they had sent her away on a little trip to relatives to get rested after the shock of her aunt’s death.
The kind, rugged old face looked disappointed, and his head sank back a little farther on the pillows. “H’m! Then there’s nothing to do now,” he said as if the matter were finished. “Dan, I thought I told you to tell ’em it was no use their coming without Joyce.”
“I did, Father. I thought I made it plain.”
“Yes, Judge, he told me, but I felt that if you understood the matter, you would feel it wasn’t necessary to wait for the formality of Joyce being here. She doesn’t know much about business anyway and would naturally leave everything to me.”
“H’m!”
The judge eyed the younger man thoughtfully, intently, but said nothing more than that.
“You see,” Eugene hurried on blandly, “it’s about the house I’m especially in a hurry. We can’t do anything till the business is settled up, of course, but I’ve had an offer for the house, an unusually good offer. The man wants to pay cash and get possession right away. It’s a man I met in the city in business relations, and he’s going to Europe and wants to leave his family here all safely fixed before he has to leave. Every day counts with him, and he’s especially anxious to get this house, and is willing to pay a good price if he can get the thing settled up at once. I thought perhaps you could put the matter through tonight for me so I could take advantage of this deal.”
“H’m! Does Joyce want to sell?” questioned the old man from his pillows. “Because if she does, you better wire her to come on.”
“I
’m sure I don’t know what Joyce has to do with it,” fumed Eugene. “It was my mother’s house, wasn’t it? Naturally I—”
But the old man’s deep voice boomed out in stern and sudden interruption. “Joyce has a great deal to do with it. The house belongs to Joyce.”
Eugene arose excitedly, his face growing suddenly very red, his voice raised far beyond the sickroom quality. “I don’t believe a word of it!” he shouted. “That’s a rank lie! My mother—!”
But Dan Peterson stood suddenly beside him, saying in a quiet voice, “That will be all this evening, Mr. Massey. Step this way, please.” And Eugene found his arm grasped like a vise and himself propelled rapidly out of the room, with Nannette in a frightened patter coming behind. Someone inside the room shut the door. Afterward in remembering, it seemed that he had heard a sound something like a chuckle from the region of the bed. It made his blood boil hotly when he thought of it. Of course there had been nothing to laugh at, and yet he felt sure the old judge had laughed. There must be something—he must find Joyce at once.
They discussed it a long time after they got home, and Eugene had got done scolding his wife for having been the cause of Joyce’s leaving. Eugene wanted to get a detective at once and find Joyce. He was frantic. He couldn’t stand the night through with this matter of the house facing him. He even had the telephone in his hand to call up a detective bureau in the city, but Nannette grappled with him for it and pleaded with him to be reasonable for once.
“Just as soon as you get a detective, the whole thing will be out, and everybody will be talking. You’ll have the whole town arrayed against us, and then where will we be? Joyce may come back tomorrow, and then there won’t be any need to tell anyone. And anyhow, you could have called her back when she first went if you had done what I told you; it was you that scolded her for burning the electric light so late last night, you remember.”
“It was you that wore her clothes to the city, wasn’t it? It was you that taunted her for being in a menial position and wouldn’t hear of her going to those examinations that she set so much store by, wasn’t it?” he responded.
Into the midst of this loud altercation there came a tap on the side door close to where Eugene was sitting. It was so startling for anyone to come to that door at that time of night that Eugene jumped and sat up. Both were absolutely still for a quarter of a second. Nannette even turned a little white as she stared toward the door, which had four latticed panes of glass and was lightly draped in open fishnet.
Nannette recovered first.
“There she is, I suppose,” she said in a low whisper with lips that scarcely moved, for she was conscious that she must be under the eye of whoever was outside. “For pity’s sake, don’t rave now and send her off again. And don’t you give in either. She needs a lesson after acting like this.”
She arose and gathered up her hat and wrap, which were lying where she had thrown them when she came in from Judge Peterson’s. Her action seemed to bring Eugene to his senses. He got up and went to the door, opening it but a few inches and looking out with an air of affront.
But Joyce was not outside, as he had half made up his mind she would be. A man stood there in the darkness. A stranger, he seemed to be at first glimpse tall, well built, of almost haughty bearing—a thing Eugene could never tolerate in any man but himself. For a moment, they stood gazing at one another. It was almost as if the man outside were sizing up the man who stood against the light. Then Eugene remarked acridly, “Well, what do you want?” giving the door the least bit of an impatient jerk, as if he were about to close it. The visitor must speak quickly.
There was perfect courtesy in the voice that replied. “Mr. Massey? Sherwood’s my name. I’d like to have a few words with you.”
There was a grave assurance about the young man’s tone that irritated Eugene. Then he reflected that the man might have some news concerning Joyce and it would be as well to hear him through.
“Well, if you don’t take too long,” he said curtly, stepping out to the porch and drawing the door closed after him. “We were just about to retire. I suppose you’re aware it’s rather late for callers.”
The young man lifted his hat with a grave smile that showed a row of irritatingly beautiful teeth and gave him somehow the appearance of great advantage. But instead of telling his errand, he put his hand out and pushed open the door, saying pleasantly and almost with an air of authority, “We’ll just go inside if you don’t mind,” and was in before Eugene could resent his action. This was most extraordinary behavior, and Eugene, half ready to eject him for his presumption, was yet somehow compelled to follow him.
It was quite evident as they entered that the visitor had intended to come inside for a purpose, for he did not hide the fact that he was taking in the whole sitting room with a quick, sharp glance, and even the hall and stairs and the living room beyond. He bowed deferentially to Nannette as she slid back into the room, curiosity in every line of her face.
Seen in the light of the room, his face was extremely handsome, with an easy carelessness upon it that showed he made no merit of his good looks and cared little for impressions. Yet when he smiled, even an enemy must listen. “I came to see whether Joyce Radway has come home yet.”
The tone demanded a straightforward answer. In fact, it was like a command, as of one who had the right to know. Eugene stiffened resentfully. “She has not,” he answered. “I believe I told you that over the phone a little while ago.”
“You did,” said Sherwood. “I came to make sure.” He gave a glance around that had a sense of listening in it.
“Indeed!” bristled Eugene.
“When did she go away, just what time?”
“What business of yours is that?”
“It isn’t any of my business. I’m making it mine. What time?”
“Well, find out if you can. I don’t answer impertinent questions.” Eugene was white with anger. He would have liked to have put this intruder out, only the man was nearly twice his size.
“That’s what I intend to do!” answered the visitor, taking a step into the room where he could look well through the hall and living room without effort. There was a grim, set look about his face that meant business, and yet he turned to Nannette with that winning smile he could flash forth suddenly like the sun coming out from behind a cloud. “Mrs. Massey, I’m not a bandit, and I’m not as impertinent as your husband seems to think, although I may be a trifle unconventional, but it is necessary for me to find out when Joyce Radway left this house, and I mean to do so. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just step upstairs and speak to your son a minute. Don’t trouble yourself to lead the way. I’ll find him all right—”
He took one swift stride into the hall before Eugene realized what he was doing and bustled irately to stop him. But the stranger did not need to go far, for Junior, in bare feet and pajamas, was hanging over the balustrade, his ears alert for the family scene.
“Hello, buddy,” the young man said in a tone he might have used with an older pal.
Junior straightened up involuntarily, and a gleam came into his eye. He threw one leg over the balustrade and balanced, grinning, emitting a low “’ello.” It was plain that he was both pleased and embarrassed.
“Still interested in that baseball bat of mine, are you, kid?”
“Sure!” responded Junior, coming down to the steps again and sticking his tongue in his cheek expectantly.
“Well, how about that package you were to deliver? Did you deliver it last night?”
Junior hung his head and wriggled on one bare toe.
“Couldn’t,” he murmured in a low voice. “She went away ‘fore I had the chance. She didn’t come back yet.”
“That’s all right, son,” said the young man pleasantly. “That’s all I want to know. May I trouble you for the package?”
“I got it hid.”
“Get it, please!”
“Junior!” broke forth Nannette’s indignant voice. “Come
here to me this instant.”
But Junior’s bare heels were flying up the stairs, and before his mother could pursue him, he returned with a small, indiscriminate bundle, which he thrust over the balustrade, where it disappeared inside the visitor’s coat.
“All right, buddy, the bat is yours when you call for it tomorrow. At the old stand. You know.”
“Aw’right!” answered Junior with delight in his eyes. It was plain that his mother was nowhere in his vision while this hero was in sight.
The young man turned and walked swiftly back through the sitting room past the angry father and mother and over to the door. With the doorknob firmly grasped in his hand, he turned once more and faced his host. “I happened to see Miss Radway alone on a lonely road quite late last night and was interested to know if she reached home in safety. I thought perhaps we might work together to find her if there was any necessity. But since you do not care to cooperate, I will wish you good evening.”
The young man flashed a distant smile and, opening the door, was gone before the man and woman realized what he was about to do.
For an instant, they looked at each other speechless. Then Nannette broke forth. “You ought to have asked him where he saw her! Go after him quick! Don’t let him get away!”
Stung into action, Eugene opened the door and called into the night, “Oh, I say! Come here! Wait a minute!”
But his words seemed to float out on emptiness.
Eugene stood in the door for a moment listening, but there seemed to be no echo of footsteps. Yet it was scarcely a second since the visitor had stood inside the door. Where could he have gone? It was almost uncanny.
Nannette came and looked out the door, and Eugene hurried down the walk calling out again, but no answer came, and his own voice seemed to mock him. He looked up and down the street but saw no one. He walked around the house and back to the gate again. There was no sound of an automobile in the quiet moonlit street. Everyone had gone to bed, and the lights were out. Strange! How could the man have disappeared?
Not Under the Law Page 5