Mary Roberts Rinehart

“ I had a fire only once; but I did not suffer from cold—the kitchen was beneath, and the flue was always warm.”
“This steel engraving—do you remember what it was?”
“The Landing of the Pilgrims,” she said promptly. “Some one had colored a part of it with crayons—a child probably.”
Mr. Patton looked puzzled. She might have invented the panel in the door or the man with the squint; but parts of her story bore the absolute imprint of truth—the chimney flue being warm, the flapping picture, the rough-dried towels, the basin with a red string through its rim. ”

“ As soon as I was strong enough, I slipped away from the house; and—they were going to give her a pauper's burial. I pawned a ring and, at least, she did not have that.”
She broke down, after keeping up bravely for so long. I gathered from broken sentences her terrible fear of having the facts known; her despair over the tissue of falsehood and truth that she had told Mr. Patton; her fear of seeing her lover again until she was sure of herself; her grief for Julie's death and her self-accusation of it; her terror that day when Hortense had told her that I had taken her skirt from my closet. ”

“ The sounds in the next house died away. The kettle on the stove began to boil cheerfully. The little room grew bright with firelight. Clare drew the box before the cot and poured two steaming cups of tea.
“We will drink our tea,” she said, “and then I shall tell you, Miss Adams. I am very happy tonight—I have only one grief.” ”

“ And trace it I did that autumn afternoon, while the dead leaves in the park made crackling eddies under the trees; while the wind held me back at every corner; while fashionable women donned the first furs of the season and sallied forth to the tailors for their winter garments. ”

“ He took an envelope from the stand at his elbow and held it out.
“Your check, as per agreement.”
“I don't want money, Mr. Patton. I—don't think I am silly; but I had my reward—if I deserve one, which, of course, I don't—when I saw Mr. Plummer's eyes last night. She went straight into his arms.”
“You won't take the check?”
“No, thank you.”
“Then I'll bank it for you. We are going to have some interesting cases together, Miss Adams, but I wish you were back here to look after me. There's a spineless creature here who lets me bully her. Do you know—you're a queer woman! ”

“ Miss March, this is an almost incredible story. A crime must have a motive. You are saying that you were imprisoned in an isolated house for nearly two months, were unharmed and unthreatened, but under constant surveillance, and finally made your escape. ”

“ March was up and about, bustling and busy; Clare was my patient. I no longer met Mr. Patton in the evenings. He was combing the outskirts of the city, I believe, and interviewing taxicab drivers. I sent a daily report to him by mail:
Monday—I notice one curious thing: She will not let me do much for her. Hortense, her maid, does some things—not much. She gets rid of us both whenever she can. I feel worse than useless. I have offered to give her massage, but she refuses. Mr. Plummer only comes to the door—she does not wish him to come in. ”

“ I ate deliberately. I never hurry with my food—I've seen too many stomachs treated like coal cellars on the first cold day of fall. And as I ate, the key lay before me on the cloth. It had a yellow tag tied to it, endorsed in a small, neat script, very German.
“Key to the house in Brickyard Road,” it said. “Kitchen door.”
I had, at the best, about two hours and a half when I left the restaurant. That meant a taxicab. I counted my money. I had thirteen dollars. It would surely be enough. ”

“ Patton had a pocket flash, and with that and his hand I managed fairly. Our destination was before us—a little house, faintly lighted.
“I'm afraid this isn't very pleasant, Miss Adams,” he apologized; “and I haven't a good reason for bringing you. But I'm up against it in a way. I want you to see this place and perhaps your instinct will tell you what I fail to make out. I've been here once today and it stumps me. They swear they've never had a girl there; that the man with the wooden leg sleeps in the garret sometimes. He's a watchman at the railroad over there. ”

“ I do not believe in excitement on an entirely empty stomach. We covered the bruise with a loop of Clare's heavy hair; and then her father and mother went in and I closed the door.
Somebody had telephoned for Mr. Plummer; but she sent her father out to say she would not see him just yet. It was like a blow in the face. He almost reeled.
“That's the message, boy,” Mr. March said. “I don't understand it any more than you do. She's in frightful condition; we've sent for the doctor. Tomorrow I am sure——”
“But what does she say?” Mr. Plummer broke in. “Where has she been? ”

“ Behind, there was a kitchen containing a table littered with the remains of the evening meal. Between the two rooms was a narrow, steep staircase shut off with a door below and ending above in a small landing. From this landing two doorways opened—one into a front room, the other into a half room, or attic, over the kitchen. It was into this room that Mr. Patton, carrying a smoky lamp, led the way.
“This is the room,” he said. “That is the window with the shed below. Here is where the flue comes up from the kitchen.” ”

“ My nerves are pretty good. I've laid out more than one body in the mortuary at night and alone. I was not going to be daunted by an empty house. Nevertheless the glow of the lamp was comforting. I put down my bundle and went into the front room.
I had a real fright there. Something shadowy stood in the center of the room, moving very slightly. I almost dropped the lamp. I had a patient once who used to say her heart “dropped a stitch.” Mine did. Then I saw that it was a woman's black dress hanging on a gas fixture and moving in the air from the open kitchen door. ”

“ But there is a Julie.”
“Does the family know the name?”
“No. The girl is paying blackmail, Mr. Patton.”
“The blond chap?”
“Yes.”
“That was rotten luck, my being out of touch that day. If we had him—or if we had your friend, the little old lady!”
He stopped the taxicab shortly after and we got out. We were well out of the center of town, in a scattering suburb. I had never seen it. And before us stretched one of those empty spaces that are left here and there, without apparent cause, during the growth of the city. House-builders are gregarious—they build in clusters. ”

“ But after a time she looked up, smiling through her tears.
“I am really only crying over Julie,” she said. “The rest is—all gone, Miss Adams. I am cured—really cured! Today I sat for an hour with a bottle of cocaine beside me, and—I did not touch it!”
That was my first case for Mr. Patton; and, though I really discovered nothing that Clare would not have told eventually herself, he was kind enough to say some very pleasant things.
“Though,” he said, wincing as he tried to move his leg, “courage carried to the nth power is often foolishness! What possessed you to go to that house alone?” ”

“ She is very saving—we all thought she was rich; but I believe not. There's a brother, or some one, that she helps. She wears a rusty black bonnet with jet on it, and a queer old wrap; and—oh, yes—she always carries the same bag—a foreign one, with buckles. I really think the bag was the reason we thought she was wealthy. It seemed such a secure affair.”
Julie, then, was my little old lady of the dining room and the garden door! And there was more than that—the school was the school from which Clare had graduated. ”

“ For furniture there was a mattress on the floor, with soiled bedding, a chair with a broken seat and a washstand. Clare had said the washstand was unfurnished, but had mentioned a tin basin. Here was a tin basin with a red string. Mr. Patton was watching me grimly.
“Well, what do you make of it?” he said.
“It looks queer,” I admitted. “Only there are some things—the panel in the door, for instance. There is no door.” ”

“ Mr. March had to confess. “She is hardly coherent yet. She says she will talk to the police sometime today. She has been imprisoned—that is all we know.”
Mrs. March's sitting room was open and Mr. Plummer went in and sat down heavily. Sometime later, as I passed the door, he called me in.
“You saw her first, didn't you?” he asked. “Will you sit down and tell me all you know about it?”
“Let Him In, Ma. We Ain't Got Nothing to Hide” I was glad to talk—I had been bottled up for so long. ”

“ The hag made as if to close the door, but a woman spoke from behind.
“Let him in, ma,” she said. “We ain't got nothing to hide. Come in, mister.”
A man came up from a cellarway with a box of bottles. I can still see his face over the bottles—his sickening pallor, his squint. He thought it was a raid, clearly. Then he saw me and his color came back.
“I guess a man's 'ouse is 'is own,” he snarled. “We drink a little beer ourselves. That ain't agin' the law, I reckon.”
“Not at all,” Mr. Patton said good-humoredly. “I'll have a lamp, please.”
It appeared to be a four-roomed house. ”

“ Samuels looks decayed—as if he has seen better days. I tried to get you by telephone to follow me. You were out.
Thursday—A very curious thing happened today: Clare asked for some chicken cooked in cream. The cook had never done it and I volunteered. It took some time; I was in the basement more than an hour. When I came up with the chicken, she had disappeared. We were all terribly frightened. I called the office twice, but you were out as usual—you will have to arrange some way for me to get you in emergencies. She had taken her wraps and gone out by the garden door. ”

“ I said, “a graphic description of a steel engraving that flapped in the wind?”
“By George!”
“There is not only no engraving—there are no nail holes in the plaster. There has never been such an engraving here,” I said in triumph.
VII I HAVE often wondered what would have happened had we taken Clare March the next day to that untidy house in Brickyard Road. Brickyard Road was the local name of the street that had been cut through and forgotten. ”