The Window at the White Cat

by Mary Roberts Rinehart

  CHAPTER X

  BREAKING THE NEWS

  Wardrop looked so wretched that I asked him into my room, and mixed himsome whisky and water. When I had given him a cigar he began to look alittle less hopeless.

  "You've been a darned sight better to me than I would have been to you,under the circumstances," he said gratefully.

  "I thought we would better arrange about Miss Margery before we try tosettle down," I replied. "What she has gone through in the lasttwenty-four hours is nothing to what is coming to-morrow. Will you tellher about her father?"

  He took a turn about the room.

  "I believe it would come better from you," he said finally. "I am in thepeculiar position of having been suspected by her father of robbing him,by you of carrying away her aunt, and now by the police and everybodyelse of murdering her father."

  "I do not suspect you of anything," I justified myself. "I don't thinkyou are entirely open, that is all, Wardrop. I think you are damagingyourself to shield some one else."

  His expressive face was on its guard in a moment. He ceased his restlesspacing, pausing impressively before me.

  "I give you my word as a gentleman--I do not know who killed Mr.Fleming, and that when I first saw him dead, my only thought was that hehad killed himself. He had threatened to, that day. Why, if you think Ikilled him, you would have to think I robbed him, too, in order to finda motive."

  I did not tell him that that was precisely what Hunter _did_ think. Ievaded the issue.

  "Mr. Wardrop, did you ever hear of the figures eleven twenty-two?" Iinquired.

  "Eleven twenty-two?" he repeated. "No, never in any unusual connection."

  "You never heard Mr. Fleming use them?" I persisted.

  He looked puzzled.

  "Probably," he said. "In the very nature of Mr. Fleming's position, weused figures all the time. Eleven twenty-two. That's the time thetheater train leaves the city for Bellwood. Not what you want, eh?"

  "Not quite," I answered non-committally and began to wind my watch. Hetook the hint and prepared to leave.

  "I'll not keep you up any longer," he said, picking up his raincoat. Heopened the door and stared ruefully down at the detective in the hallbelow. "The old place is queer without Miss Jane," he said irrelevantly."Well, good night, and thanks."

  He went heavily along the hall and I closed my door, I heard him passMargery's room and then go back and rap lightly. She was evidentlyawake.

  "It's Harry," he called. "I thought you wouldn't worry if you knew I wasin the house to-night."

  She asked him something, for--

  "Yes, he is here," he said. He stood there for a moment, hesitating oversomething, but whatever it was, he decided against it.

  "Good night, dear," he said gently and went away.

  The little familiarity made me wince. Every unattached man has the samepang now and then. I have it sometimes when Edith sits on the arm ofFred's chair, or one of the youngsters leaves me to run to "daddy." Andone of the sanest men I ever met went to his office and proposed to hisstenographer in sheer craving for domesticity, after watching the wifeof one of his friends run her hand over her husband's chin and give hima reproving slap for not having shaved!

  I pulled myself up sharply and after taking off my dripping coat, I wentto the window and looked out into the May night. It seemed incrediblethat almost the same hour the previous night little Miss Jane haddisappeared, had been taken bodily away through the peace of the warmspring darkness, and that I, as wide-awake as I was at that moment,acute enough of hearing to detect Wardrop's careful steps on the gravelwalk below, had heard no struggle, had permitted this thing to happenwithout raising a finger in the old lady's defense. And she was gone ascompletely as if she had stepped over some psychic barrier into thefourth dimension!

  I found myself avoiding the more recent occurrence at the White Cat. Iwas still too close to it to have gained any perspective. On thatsubject I was able to think clearly of only one thing: that I would haveto tell Margery in the morning, and that I would have given anything Ipossessed for a little of Edith's diplomacy with which to break the badnews. It was Edith who broke the news to me that the moths had got intomy evening clothes while I was hunting in the Rockies, by telling methat my dress-coat made me look narrow across the shoulders andpersuading me to buy a new one and give the old one to Fred. Then shebroke the news of the moths to Fred!

  I was ready for bed when Wardrop came back and rapped at my door. He wasstill dressed, and he had the leather bag in his hand.

  "Look here," he said excitedly, when I had closed the door, "this is notmy bag at all. Fool that I was. I never examined it carefully."

  He held it out to me, and I carried it to the light. It was an ordinaryeighteen-inch Russia leather traveling-bag, tan in color, and withgold-plated mountings. It was empty, save for the railroad schedulethat still rested in one side pocket. Wardrop pointed to the emptypocket on the other side.

  "In my bag," he explained rapidly, "my name was written inside thatpocket, in ink. I did it myself--my name and address."

  I looked inside the pockets on both sides: nothing had been written in.

  "Don't you see?" he asked excitedly. "Whoever stole my bag had this oneto substitute for it. If we can succeed in tracing the bag here to theshop it came from, and from there to the purchaser, we have the thief."

  "There's no maker's name in it," I said, after a casual examination.Wardrop's face fell, and he took the bag from me despondently.

  "No matter which way I turn," he said, "I run into a blind alley. If Iwere worth a damn, I suppose I could find a way out. But I'm not. Well,I'll let you sleep this time."

  At the door, however, he turned around and put the bag on the floor,just inside.

  "If you don't mind, I'll leave it here," he said. "They'll be searchingmy room, I suppose, and I'd like to have the bag for future reference."

  He went for good that time, and I put out the light. As an afterthoughtI opened my door perhaps six inches, and secured it with one of the pinkconch-shells which flanked either end of the stone hearth. I had failedthe night before: I meant to be on hand that night.

  I went to sleep immediately, I believe. I have no idea how much later itwas that I roused. I wakened suddenly and sat up in bed. There had beena crash of some kind, for the shock was still vibrating along my nerves.Dawn was close; the window showed gray against the darkness inside, andI could make out dimly the larger objects in the room. I listenedintently, but the house seemed quiet. Still I was not satisfied. I gotup and, lighting the candle, got into my raincoat in lieu of adressing-gown, and prepared to investigate.

  With the fatality that seemed to pursue my feet in that house, with myfirst step I trod squarely on top of the conch-shell, and I fell back onto the edge of the bed swearing softly and holding the injured member.Only when the pain began to subside did I realize that I had left theshell on the door-sill, and that it had moved at least eight feet whileI slept!

  When I could walk I put it on the mantel, its mate from the other end ofthe hearth beside it. Then I took my candle and went out into the hall.My door, which I had left open, I found closed; nothing else wasdisturbed. The leather bag sat just inside, as Wardrop had left it.Through Miss Maitland's transom were coming certain strangled andirregular sounds, now falsetto, now deep bass, that showed that worthylady to be asleep. A glance down the staircase revealed Davidson,stretching in his chair and looking up at me.

  "I'm frozen," he called up cautiously. "Throw me down a blanket or two,will you?"

  I got a couple of blankets from my bed and took them down. He wasexamining his chair ruefully.

  "There isn't any grip to this horsehair stuff," he complained. "Everytime I doze off I dream I'm coasting down the old hill back on the farm,and when I wake up I'm sitting on the floor, with the end of my backbone bent like a hook."

  He wrapped himself in the blankets and sat down again, taking theprecaution this time to put his legs on another chair and thus anchorh
imself. Then he produced a couple of apples and a penknife andproceeded to pare and offer me one.

  "Found 'em in the pantry," he said, biting into one. "I belong to theapple society. Eat one apple every day and keep healthy!" He stopped andstared intently at the apple. "I reckon I got a worm that time," hesaid, with less ardor.

  "I'll get something to wash him down," I offered, rising, but he wavedme back to my stair.

  "Not on your life," he said with dignity. "Let him walk. How are thingsgoing up-stairs?"

  "You didn't happen to be up there a little while ago, did you?" Iquestioned in turn.

  "No. I've been kept busy trying to sit tight where I am. Why?"

  "Some one came into my room and wakened me," I explained. "I heard aracket and when I got up I found a shell that I had put on the door-sillto keep the door open, in the middle of the room. I stepped on it."

  He examined a piece of apple before putting it in his mouth. Then heturned a pair of shrewd eyes on me.

  "That's funny," he said. "Anything in the room disturbed?"

  "Nothing."

  "Where's the shell now?"

  "On the mantel. I didn't want to step on it again."

  He thought for a minute, but his next remark was wholly facetious.

  "No. I guess you won't step on it up there. Like the old woman: shesays, 'Motorman, if I put my foot on the rail will I be electrocuted?'And he says, 'No, madam, not unless you put your other foot on thetrolley wire.'"

  I got up impatiently. There was no humor in the situation that night forme.

  "Some one had been in the room," I reiterated. "The door was closed,although I had left it open."

  He finished his apple and proceeded with great gravity to drop theparings down the immaculate register in the floor beside his chair.Then--

  "I've only got one business here, Mr. Knox," he said in an undertone,"and you know what that is. But if it will relieve your mind of thethought that there was anything supernatural about your visitor, I'lltell you that it was Mr. Wardrop, and that to the best of my belief hewas in your room, not once, but twice, in the last hour and a half. Asfar as that shell goes, it was I that kicked it, having gone up withoutmy shoes."

  I stared at him blankly.

  "What could he have wanted?" I exclaimed. But with his revelation,Davidson's interest ceased; he drew the blanket up around his shouldersand shivered.

  "Search me," he said and yawned.

  I went back to bed, but not to sleep. I deliberately left the door wideopen, but no intrusion occurred. Once I got up and glanced down thestairs. For all his apparent drowsiness, Davidson heard my cautiousmovements, and saluted me in a husky whisper.

  "Have you got any quinine?" he said. "I'm sneezing my head off."

  But I had none. I gave him a box of cigarettes, and after partiallydressing, I threw myself across the bed to wait for daylight. I wasroused by the sun beating on my face, to hear Miss Letitia's tones fromher room across.

  "Nonsense," she was saying querulously. "Don't you suppose I can smell?Do you think because I'm a little hard of hearing that I've lost myother senses? Somebody's been smoking."

  "It's me," Heppie shouted. "I--"

  "You?" Miss Letitia snarled. "What are you smoking for? That ain't myshirt; it's my--"

  "I ain't smokin'," yelled Heppie. "You won't let me tell you. I spilledvinegar on the stove; that's what you smell."

  Miss Letitia's sardonic chuckle came through the door.

  "Vinegar," she said with scorn. "Next thing you'll be telling me it'svinegar that Harry and Mr. Knox carry around in little boxes in theirpockets. You've pinned my cap to my scalp."

  I hurried down-stairs to find Davidson gone. My blanket lay neatlyfolded, on the lower step, and the horsehair chairs were ranged alongthe wall as before. I looked around anxiously for telltale ashes, butthere was none, save, at the edge of the spotless register, a trace.Evidently they had followed the apple parings. It grew cold a day or solater, and Miss Letitia had the furnace fired, and although it does notbelong to my story, she and Heppie searched the house over to accountfor the odor of baking apples--a mystery that was never explained.

  Wardrop did not appear at breakfast. Margery came down-stairs as Bellawas bringing me my coffee, and dropped languidly into her chair. Shelooked tired and white.

  "Another day!" she said wearily. "Did you ever live through such aneternity as the last thirty-six hours?"

  I responded absently; the duty I had assumed hung heavy over me. I had afrantic impulse to shirk the whole thing: to go to Wardrop and tell himit was his responsibility, not mine, to make this sad-eyed girl sadderstill. That as I had not his privilege of comforting her, neither shouldI shoulder his responsibility of telling her. But the issue was forcedon me sooner than I had expected, for at that moment I saw the glaringhead-lines of the morning paper, laid open at Wardrop's plate.

  She must have followed my eyes, for we reached for it simultaneously.She was nearer than I, and her quick eye caught the name. Then I put myhand over the heading and she flushed with indignation.

  "You are not to read it now," I said, meeting her astonished gaze asbest I could. "Please let me have it. I promise you I will give it toyou--almost immediately."

  "You are very rude," she said without relinquishing the paper. "I saw apart of that; it is about my father!"

  "Drink your coffee, please," I pleaded. "I will let you read it then. Onmy honor."

  She looked at me; then she withdrew her hand and sat erect.

  "How can you be so childish!" she exclaimed. "If there is anything inthat paper that it--will hurt me to learn, is a cup of coffee going tomake it any easier?"

  I gave up then. I had always thought that people heard bad news betterwhen they had been fortified with something to eat, and I had a verydistinct recollection that Fred had made Edith drink something--teaprobably--before he told her that Billy had fallen off the back fenceand would have to have a stitch taken in his lip. Perhaps I should haveoffered Margery tea instead of coffee. But as it was, she sat, stonilyerect, staring at the paper, and feeling that evasion would be useless,I told her what had happened, breaking the news as gently as I could.

  I stood by her helplessly through the tearless agony that followed, andcursed myself for a blundering ass. I had said that he had beenaccidentally shot, and I said it with the paper behind me, but she putthe evasion aside bitterly.

  "Accidentally!" she repeated. The first storm of grief over, she liftedher head from where it had rested on her arms and looked at me, scorningmy subterfuge. "He was murdered. That's the word I didn't have time toread! Murdered! And you sat back and let it happen. I went to you intime and you didn't do anything. No one did anything!"

  I did not try to defend myself. How could I? And afterward when she satup and pushed back the damp strands of hair from her eyes, she was morereasonable.

  "I did not mean what I said about your not having done anything," shesaid, almost childishly. "No one could have done more. It was to happen,that's all."

  But even then I knew she had trouble in store that she did not suspect.What would she do when she heard that Wardrop was under grave suspicion?Between her dead father and her lover, what? It was to be days before Iknew and in all that time, I, who would have died, not cheerfully but atleast stoically, for her, had to stand back and watch the struggle, notdaring to hold out my hand to help, lest by the very gesture she divinemy wild longing to hold her for myself.

  She recovered bravely that morning from the shock, and refusing to go toher room and lie down--a suggestion, like the coffee, culled from myvicarious domestic life--she went out to the veranda and sat there inthe morning sun, gazing across the lawn. I left her there finally, andbroke the news of her brother-in-law's death to Miss Letitia. After thefirst surprise, the old lady took the news with what was nearercomplacency than resignation.

  "Shot!" she said, sitting up in bed, while Heppie shook her pillows."It's a queer death for Allan Fleming; I always said he would behanged."
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  After that, she apparently dismissed him from her mind, and we talked ofher sister. Her mood had changed and it was depressing to find that shespoke of Jane always in the past tense. She could speak of her quitecalmly--I suppose the sharpness of our emotions is in inverse ratio toour length of years, and she regretted that, under the circumstances,Jane would not rest in the family lot.

  "We are all there," she said, "eleven of us, counting my sister Mary'shusband, although he don't properly belong, and I always said we wouldtake him out if we were crowded. It is the best lot in the HopedaleCemetery; you can see the shaft for two miles in any direction."

  We held a family council that morning around Miss Letitia's bed:Wardrop, who took little part in the proceedings, and who stood at awindow looking out most of the time, Margery on the bed, her arm aroundMiss Letitia's shriveled neck, and Heppie, who acted as interpreter andshouted into the old lady's ear such parts of the conversation as sheconsidered essential.

  "I have talked with Miss Fleming," I said, as clearly as I could, "andshe seems to shrink from seeing people. The only friends she cares aboutare in Europe, and she tells me there are no other relatives."

  Heppie condensed this into a vocal capsule, and thrust it into MissLetitia's ear. The old lady nodded.

  "No other relatives," she corroborated. "God be praised for that,anyhow."

  "And yet," I went on, "there are things to look after, certain necessaryduties that no one else can attend to. I don't want to insist, but sheought, if she is able, to go to the city house, for a few hours, atleast."

  "City house!" Heppie yelled in her ear.

  "It ought to be cleaned," Miss Letitia acquiesced, "and fresh curtainsput up. Jane would have been in her element; she was always handy at afuneral. And don't let them get one of those let-down-at-the-sidecoffins. They're leaky."

  Luckily Margery did not notice this.

  "I was going to suggest," I put in hurriedly, "that my brother's wifewould be only too glad to help, and if Miss Fleming will go into townwith me, I am sure Edith would know just what to do. She isn't curiousand she's very capable."

  Margery threw me a grateful glance, grateful, I think, that I couldunderstand how, under the circumstances, a stranger was more acceptablethan curious friends could be.

  "Mr. Knox's sister-in-law!" interpreted Heppie.

  "When you have to say the letter 's,' turn your head away," Miss Letitiarebuked her. "Well, I don't object, if Knox's sister-in-law don't." Shehad an uncanny way of expanding Heppie's tabloid speeches. "You can takemy white silk shawl to lay over the body, but be sure to bring it back.We may need it for Jane."

  If the old lady's chin quivered a bit, while Margery threw her armsaround her, she was mightily ashamed of it. But Heppie was made ofweaker stuff. She broke into a sudden storm of sobs and left the room,to stick her head in the door a moment after.

  "Kidneys or chops?" she shouted almost belligerently.

  "Kidneys," Miss Letitia replied in kind.

  Wardrop went with us to the station at noon, but he left us there, witha brief remark that he would be up that night. After I had put Margeryin a seat, I went back to have a word with him alone. He was standingbeside the train, trying to light a cigarette, but his hands shookalmost beyond control, and after the fourth match he gave it up. Myminute for speech was gone. As the train moved out I saw him walkingback along the platform, paying no attention to anything around him.Also, I had a fleeting glimpse of a man loafing on a baggage truck, hishat over his eyes. He was paring an apple with a penknife, and droppingthe peelings with careful accuracy through a crack in the floor of theplatform.

  I had arranged over the telephone that Edith should meet the train, andit was a relief to see that she and Margery took to each other at once.We drove to the house immediately, and after a few tears when she sawthe familiar things around her, Margery rose to the situation bravely.Miss Letitia had sent Bella to put the house in order, and it wasevident that the idea of clean curtains for the funeral had been drilledinto her until it had become an obsession. Not until Edith had concealedthe step-ladder were the hangings safe, and late in the afternoon weheard a crash from the library, and found Bella twisted on the floor,the result of putting a teakwood tabouret on a table and from thenceattacking the lace curtains of the library windows.

  Edith gave her a good scolding and sent her off to soak her sprainedankle. Then she righted the tabouret, sat down on it and began on me.

  "Do you know that you have not been to the office for two days?" shesaid severely. "And do you know that Hawes had hysterics in our fronthall last night? You had a case in court yesterday, didn't you?"

  "Nothing very much," I said, looking over her head. "Anyhow, I'm tired.I don't know when I'm going back. I need a vacation."

  She reached behind her and pulling the cord, sent the window shade tothe top of the window. At the sight of my face thus revealed, she drew along sigh.

  "The biggest case you ever had, Jack! The biggest retainer you everhad--"

  "I've spent that," I protested feebly.

  "A vacation, and you only back from Pinehurst!"

  "The girl was in trouble--_is_ in trouble, Edith," I burst out. "Any onewould have done the same thing. Even Fred would hardly have desertedthat household. It's stricken, positively stricken."

  My remark about Fred did not draw her from cover.

  "Of course it's your own affair," she said, not looking at me, "andgoodness knows I'm disinterested about it, you ruin the boys, bothstomachs and dispositions, and I could use your room _splendidly_ as asewing-room--"

  "Edith! You abominable little liar!"

  She dabbed at her eyes furiously with her handkerchief, and walked withgreat dignity to the door. Then she came back and put her hand on myarm.

  "Oh, Jack, if we could only have saved you this!" she said, and a minutelater, when I did not speak: "Who is the man, dear?"

  "A distant relative, Harry Wardrop," I replied, with what I think wasvery nearly my natural tone. "Don't worry, Edith. It's all right. I'veknown it right along."

  "Pooh!" Edith returned sagely. "So do I know I've got to die and beburied some day. Its being inevitable doesn't make it any morecheerful." She went out, but she came back in a moment and stuck herhead through the door.

  "_That's_ the only inevitable thing there is," she said, taking up theconversation--an old habit of hers--where she had left off.

  "I don't know what you are talking about," I retorted, turning my backon her. "And anyhow, I regard your suggestion as immoral." But when Iturned again, she had gone.

  That Saturday afternoon at four o'clock the body of Allan Fleming wasbrought home, and placed in state in the music-room of the house.

  Miss Jane had been missing since Thursday night. I called Hunter bytelephone, and he had nothing to report.