Part 11 (1/2)

”You have sprained your ankle,” I said, with sudden alarm.

In reply she brushed aside her gown, and for the first time I saw what had occurred. She was sitting half over a trap-door in the floor, which had closed on her skirts and held her fast.

”The wretched thing!” she wailed. ”And I have called until I am hoa.r.s.e.

I could shake Heppie! Then I tried to call you mentally. I fixed my mind on you and said over and over, 'Come, please come.' Didn't you feel anything at all?”

”Good old trap-door!” I said. ”I know I was thinking about you, but I never suspected the reason. And then to have walked past here twenty minutes ago! Why didn't you call me then?” I was tugging at the door, but it was fast, with the skirts to hold it tight.

”I looked such a fright,” she explained. ”Can't you pry it up with something?”

I tried several things without success, while Margery explained her plight.

”I was sure Robert had not looked carefully in the old wine cellar,” she said, ”and then I remembered this trap-door opened into it. It was the only place we hadn't explored thoroughly. I put a ladder down and looked around. Ugh!”

”What did you find?” I asked, as my third broomstick lever snapped.

”Nothing--only I know now where Aunt Let.i.tia's Edwin Booth went to. He was a cat,” she explained, ”and Aunt Let.i.tia made the railroad pay for killing him.”

I gave up finally and stood back.

”Couldn't you--er--get out of your garments, and--I could go out and close the door,” I suggested delicately. ”You see you are sitting on the trap-door, and--”

But Margery scouted the suggestion with the proper scorn, and demanded a pair of scissors. She cut herself loose with vicious snips, while I paraphrased the old nursery rhyme, ”She cut her petticoats all around about.” Then she gathered up her outraged garments and fled precipitately.

She was unusually dignified at dinner. Neither of us cared to eat, and the empty places--Wardrop's and Miss Let.i.tia's--Miss Jane's had not been set--were like skeletons at the board.

It was Margery who, after our pretense of a meal, voiced the suspicion I think we both felt.

”It is a strange time for Harry to go away,” she said quietly, from the library window.

”He probably has a reason.”

”Why don't you say it?” she said suddenly, turning on me. ”I know what you think. You believe he only pretended he was robbed!”

”I should be sorry to think anything of the kind,” I began. But she did not allow me to finish.

”I saw what you thought,” she burst out bitterly. ”The detective almost laughed in his face. Oh, you needn't think I don't know: I saw him last night, and the woman too. He brought her right to the gate. You treat me like a child, all of you!”

In sheer amazement I was silent. So a new character had been introduced into the play--a woman, too!

”You were not the only person, Mr. Knox, who could not sleep last night,” she went on. ”Oh, I know a great many things. I know about the pearls, and what you think about them, and I know more than that, I--”

She stopped then. She had said more than she intended to, and all at once her bravado left her, and she looked like a frightened child. I went over to her and took one trembling hand.

”I wish you didn't know all those things,” I said. ”But since you do, won't you let me share the burden? The only reason I am still here is--on your account.”

I had a sort of crazy desire to take her in my arms and comfort her, Wardrop or no Wardrop. But at that moment, luckily for me, perhaps, Miss Let.i.tia's shrill old voice came from the stairway.

”Get out of my way, Heppie,” she was saying tartly. ”I'm not on my death-bed yet, not if I know it. Where's Knox?”