CHAPTER XII
The Burglar
That Miss Meredith should turn in a moment from being freezinglyuninterested in the Professor's wife, to being more friendly than anyone else, seemed from one point of view very noble and distinguished,from another puzzling and peculiar.
"It's a little dis-disconcerting," said Elma at Miss Grace's. "We wereso pleased at first when Miss Meredith pointed out our talents to us.Now she is pointing out Mrs. Clutterbuck's. And you know, last week, wedidn't think Mrs. Clutterbuck had any talents at all."
"Ah--that is one of our little tragedies," said Miss Grace simply."That we are obliged to outlive the extravagance of new friends."
"Do you think Miss Meredith won't keep it up where we are concerned?"asked Elma anxiously. "It would be a little sad if she didn't, wouldn'tit? Like deceiving us to begin with; and now she may be deceiving Mrs.Clutterbuck."
"Oh, I don't know. She may work wonders with the Professor. It must bepure goodness that prompts her, dear."
"She must be used to being taken coldly," said Elma. "The Professorglares at her, and Elsie charges straight out to the back garden everytime she calls."
"Is Mr. Symington there now?" asked Miss Grace.
"No, he left in two days. Papa was charmed with him. He and theProfessor and papa had an evening together when we were all at theGardiners, and Mrs. Clutterbuck came too. Papa says Mr. Symington willmake a name for himself one day. He is coming back to Ridgetown for asummer, some time soon, he liked it so much."
If only for the sudden interest taken by the Merediths in theClutterbucks, it seemed necessary that they should become very much apart of the Leightons' life just then. But nothing could thaw thedemeanour of Elsie. Dr. Merryweather found her improved slightly, butthere were signs that she fretted inordinately. Nothing she did was whatother girls did, and she was quite beyond the abstracted influences ofher parents.
Adelaide Maud met the Professor.
"I hear you have a perfect little duck of a daughter," said she airily.
"Ha, hm," exclaimed the Professor, quite irresponsible in the matter ofEnglish for the moment. He had no real words for such a situation.
"Aren't you awfully proud of her?" asked Adelaide Maud.
The Professor recovered. That word "awfully!" It made him forget thisnew version of his daughter.
"So you are also in this conspiracy," whispered Lance afterwards toAdelaide Maud. "It's no good. A bomb under that fanatic is all thatwill move him."
But in the meantime Elsie made some moves for herself.
The Leightons were interested in their own affairs. Cuthbert was away,and Mr. Leighton had to make a run to London. He took Mabel with himand that occurrence was exciting enough in itself. As though to show upthe helplessness of a family left without a man in the house, however,one night the maids roused every one in alarm. A burglar, it seems, wastrying to get in at the pantry window. The girls, who were gettingready for bed, went quaking to their mother's room. Very frightened andmost carefully they made their way to the vicinity of the pantry. Therewas certainly to be heard a faint shuffling.
"See'd him as plain as day, Miss, leaning up against the window. Hemoved some flower pots, and stood on 'em."
"Lock the kitchen door, telephone for the police, and light the gas,"said Jean in a strained whisper.
She immediately obeyed her own orders by telephoning herself in a quickdeep undertone, "Man at the pantry window trying to get in."
Then she took the taper from the shaking hands of Betty.
"I've read in _Home Notes_ or somewhere that when burglars appear, ifyou light up they get frightened and go away."
They had roused Aunt Katharine who had come as company for a night ortwo and had gone to bed at half-past nine.
"What's the good of frightening them if you've sent for the police?"asked Aunt Katharine. "Better let them get caught red-handed." Sheinvariably objected to being roused from her first sleep.
"Oh goodness," wailed Betty. "It sounds like murder." She felt quitethrilled.
The maids cowered shivering in the passage.
"I heard them flower pots again, Miss. 'E's either got in or--'e's----"
They distinctly heard the pantry window move.
"Well, the door between is locked," said the quiet voice of Mrs.Leighton, "and the police ought to be here very soon now."
Jean took the curlers out of her hair.
"I wish they would hurry up," said she.
Elma got under Aunt Katharine's eiderdown.
"I may as well die warm," she remarked with her teeth chattering.
There was not much inclination to jokes however, and Elma's speech wastouched with a certain abandonment of fear. The situation was verytrying. When the police did arrive and ran at a quick, stealthy run tothe pantry window, they waited in terror for the expected shuffle andoutcry.
"It's really awful," whispered Betty, clinging in despair to her mother.
"I can't think why they are so quiet," said Mrs. Leighton. "I think Imust open the kitchen door."
"Oh, ma'am, please, ma'am." Cook at last became hysterical. "Don'tmove that door, ma'am; we've had scare enough. Let 'em catch 'emthemselves."
Betty sat down on the stairs and leant her head on her hands.
"They must be arresting them," she said, "with handcuffs. And papa saidthey always have to read over the charge. They must be reading over thecharge now, I think."
"In the dark!" said Aunt Katharine with a certain eloquent sniff.
"They have lanterns, dark lanterns. Isn't it beautiful?" said Betty.
She rose in her white dressing-gown.
"Listen," said she.
The door-bell suddenly clanged. Every one screamed except Mrs.Leighton.
"I do wish you would keep quiet," said she. "The police will think weare being murdered." She moved to the door. But again she was arrestedby piercing directions.
"Talk to them at the window, mummy. They might be the burglarsthemselves. How are we to know? Do talk at the window."
"I'm extremely cold," said Mrs. Leighton, "and I'd rather ask them inwhoever they are, than talk to them at an open window."
By the time she had finished, however, Jean, the valiant, had the windowopen and had discovered a policeman. They had "scoured the premises,"he said, and no thief was to be found. Mrs. Leighton wrapped herself inan eiderdown quilt.
"Will you come in, please, and open my kitchen door? Cook thinks theymay be there," she said.
With deep thankfulness they let in the policeman. A sergeant appeared.He was very sympathetic and reassuring. "Best not to proceed tooquickly," he said in a fat, slow way. "I have a man still outsidewatching. So if 'e's 'ere, Miss, we'll catch 'im either way. A grandthing the telephone."
He unlocked the door, and thoroughly investigated the kitchen.
"No signs," said he, "no signs."
The Leightons recovered some of their lost dignity and crowded in. OnlyJean however had the satisfaction of hair in order and curlersdiscarded. How brave of Jean to remember at that dreadful moment ofburglars in the house!
The sergeant had gas lighted and looked extremely puzzled.
"'E 's been 'ere right enough," said he. "Window open right enough.Was it fastened?"
He turned about, but the chief evidence had departed. With the advent ofthe policeman, cook and retinue had suddenly remembered their costumes.Like rabbits they had scuttled, first into the larder for cover, theninto their own rooms, where they donned costumes more suitable for suchimpressive visitors. Mrs. Leighton's eye twinkled when she found cookappear in hastily found dress.
"Did you leave the window unfastened, cook?" she asked.
Cook was sure. "It was a thing as 'ow I never forgot, ma'am, but thisone night----"
Well, there seemed to be some uncertainty.
Elma's eyes during this were straying continually to a piece ofn
otepaper lying on a table. First she thought, "It is some letterbelonging to the maids." Then an impelling idea that the white paperhad some other meaning forced her to pick it up. Every other person wasengaged in watching the search of the sergeant and listening to hiswords.
"Some one has been right in this 'ere kitchen. It's the doors andwindows unlatched that do it. Many a time since I've been here assergeant, I've said to myself, 'We'll 'ave trouble yet over theseunlatched windows.'"
"We have been so safe," complained Mrs. Leighton. "The poor people heretoo--so respectable and hard-working!"
"Drink, ma'am, drink," said the sergeant dismally, "you never know whatit will do to a man."
He turned his lantern in his fat fingers.
"Oh," said Aunt Katharine with a sudden gasp, "I could stand a plainthief, hungry, may be, but master of himself. But a drunk man--it'sdreadful."
She shivered and looked into corners as though one of the thieves mightbe asleep there. The sergeant and his companion made a thorough searchof the house.
None of them noticed Elma who sat as though cast in an eternal shiverand who surreptitiously read the scrap of notepaper.
"The Trail." That was all that was written in words but nimbly drawn ona turned back corner was a snaky, sinuous serpent. It had the eyes andthe accusing glare of the expression of Elsie.
Elma wondered how far she might be right in keeping that document whilethe fat sergeant followed up his cues, and described the burglar. Hewas six feet at least it seemed, to have got in at the window where hedid. "Flower pots or no flower pots, no smaller man could have doneit." "Fool," thought Elma. "Elsie, who can climb a drain pipe, dropfrom a balcony, skim walls. Elsie had a way of which he doesn't know."
One thought that ran through her mind was the wickedness of any one'shaving called Elsie by such a name as the Serpent, and the tragedy ofher having found it out. There was some excuse for this latestwickedest prank of all. The daring of Elsie confused her. What girlwould be so devoid of fear as to move out at eleven at night and act theburglar? None of their set had the pluck for it, to put it in thebaldest way. The idea that she might have been caught by the fatsergeant appalled Elma. She saw the scornful, wilful eyes of theSerpent dancing. Would she care? Yet she was the girl who had mopedfor the death of her dog till "her hair came out in patches."
She was still staring at the trail of the Serpent when the sergeant hadfinished his "tour of safety." After all, it might not have been aprank of Elsie's. It might have been a six-foot burglar. This accusingserpent--well, one couldn't go on a thing of that sort. It would be soamusing too that they were had practically out of bed in such a panic.Aunt Katharine looked very worn and disturbed. She would never forgivea practical joke. Elma held the paper tight, and down in hersympathetic, plaintive little soul felt she could never accuse a fly,far less a sensitive wicked little mischief like Elsie Clutterbuck.
She could not help laughing at themselves. But after all, who waslooking after that wild child now? She nearly asked the sergeant to makehis way home by the side lane by which she now knew Elsie had come. Thenthe certainty that this self-satisfied person with his six-foot burglarwould never make anything of this slippery fearless little elf burglarkept her silent.
The sergeant finished his tour with great impressiveness. They wereinformed they might safely go to bed. A man or two would be about to seethat no one was hanging round at all. It was very ridiculous to Elma."After all," remarked the sergeant, "you are very early people. It isonly eleven o'clock now. Hardly the dead of night, ma'am!"
"We are generally less early of course," said Mrs. Leighton, "but wewere alone to-night. Mr. Leighton and my son are away."
"Ah, bad," remarked the sergeant. "It looks as though our friend had aninkling to that effect."
Elma thought the interview would never be over.
It was best to say nothing, or Mrs. Leighton would have had the townsearched for Elsie. It was best in every way to crumple tight thatincriminating paper and wonder why in the wide world Elsie had done it.
She met the Serpent the following day. There was an impish, happy lookof mischief on that usually savage little face. Miss Meredith had beenretailing to her mamma the terrific alarm which the Leightons hadexperienced on the previous evening. She met Elma full face and thesmile on her lips died.
"Why did you do it?" asked Elma bluntly as though she had known theSerpent all her life. The Serpent glared blandly at Elma, then fiercelyresumed her ordinary pose.
"You came to my house, or your mother did, to take me out ofmyself--charity-child sort of visit, you know. I heard of that, nevermind how. I came to you to take you out of yourselves. I rather fancyI did it--didn't I?"
The ice of reserve had been broken at last and the Serpent was stingingin earnest.
Elma could only gaze at her.
"You think I'm a kind of 'case,' I suppose. Some one to feel good andgenerous over. Just because my hair is coming out in patches. Well,it's stopped coming out in patches but I still have a few calls to pay."
"Weren't you afraid last night?" asked Elma in complete wonder.
They had moved into a shadow against the wall.
"Afraid," blazed the Serpent, and then she trembled as though she wouldfall.
"Don't," cried Elma sharply, "don't faint."
"I nearly did--last night. I nearly did. It was dreadful going home.Who knows that it was I who was there?"
"I do," said Elma, "that's all."
"Don't tell a soul," wailed the burglar. "You won't, will you? I knowit was awful of me, but such fun up to the moment, when--when I heardthem moving inside. Then my legs grew so weak and it was like a dreamwhere you can't get away. You shouldn't have called me the Serpent."
"We didn't," said Elma. "Not in the way you mean. But because youseemed to know about animals in a queer way--like Elsie Venner. Lancesaid she was half a snake, but just because she knew about snakes. It'sdifficult to explain."
"Lance?" asked the Serpent.
"Yes, why don't you speak to Lance now and then?"
"I pay him a higher compliment," said the queer little Serpent. "I worehis clothes last night."
"Oh," said Elma. "Oh! yet you could faint to-day--or nearly so."
"Isn't it wicked," said the Serpent. "A boy wouldn't have given in.They do much worse, and don't give way at the knees, you know. I onlyopened the window and threw in the note. It was nothing. I meant youjust to be puzzled. I was there early and couldn't find a suitablewindow or a door, so I waited till the maids went to bed. They left alittle window half open."
"Mamma ought to dismiss cook," said Elma primly.
It was a streak of the sunlight of confidence which did not illuminatethe Serpent again for many days to come. Elma, however, at the time,and until she once more met the scornful glare of reserve habitual tothat person, felt as though she had found a friend. They said good-byein fairly jocular spirits, and Elma rushed home to give at least her"all-to-be-depended-upon" mother the news.
When she entered the drawing-room, however, Jean was describing theburglary to a company of people. Little shrieks and "Ohs" and "Oh,however did you do it?" "I should have died, really I should," were tobe heard.
Jean's burglar was six feet two by this time and he had an "accomplice."
Elma thought she would choose another occasion on which to give her newsto Mrs. Leighton.