HAD to have work!"
The candor of his smile would have disarmed a stonier-hearted person
than Miss Cornelia. But her suspicions were still awake.
"'That's all, is it?"
"That's enough when you're down and out." His words had an
unmistakable accent of finality. She couldn't help wanting to believe
him, and yet, he wasn't what he had pretended to be—and this night of
all nights was no time to take people on trust!
"How do I know you won't steal the spoons?" she queried, her voice
still gruff.
"Are they nice spoons?" he asked with absurd seriousness.
She couldn't help smiling at his tone. "Beautiful spoons."
Again that engaging, boyish manner of his touched something in her
heart.
"Spoons are a great temptation to me, Miss Van Gorder—but if you'll
take me, I'll promise to leave them alone."
"That's extremely kind of you," she answered with grim humor, knowing
herself beaten. She went over to ring for Billy.
Lizzie took the opportunity to gain her ear.
"I don't trust him, Miss Neily! He's too smooth!" she whispered
warningly.
Miss Cornelia stiffened. "I haven't asked for your opinion, Lizzie,"
she said.
But Lizzie was not to be put off by the Van Gorder manner.
"Oh," she whispered, "you're just as bad as all the rest of 'em. A
good-looking man comes in the door and your brains fly out the window!"
Miss Cornelia quelled her with a gesture and turned back to the young
man. He was standing just where she had left him, his cap in his
hands—but, while her back had been turned, his eyes had made a
stealthy survey of the living-room—a survey that would have made it
plain to Miss Cornelia, if she had seen him, that his interest in the
Fleming establishment was not merely the casual interest of a servant
in his new place of abode. But she had not seen and she could have
told nothing from his present expression.
"Have you had anything to eat lately?" she asked in a kindly voice.
He looked down at his cap. "Not since this morning," he admitted as
Billy answered the bell.
Miss Cornelia turned to the impassive Japanese. "Billy, give this man
something to eat and then show him where he is to sleep."
She hesitated. The gardener's house was some distance from the main
building, and with the night and the approaching storm she felt her own
courage weakening. Into the bargain, whether this stranger had lied
about his gardening or not, she was curiously attracted to him.
"I think," she said slowly, "that I'll have you sleep in the house
here, at least for tonight. Tomorrow we can—the housemaid's room,
Billy," she told the butler. And before their departure she held out a
candle and a box of matches.
"Better take these with you, Brooks," she said. "The local light
company crawls under its bed every time there is a thunderstorm. Good
night, Brooks."
"Good night, ma'am," said the young man smiling. Following Billy to
the door, he paused. "You're being mighty good to me," he said
diffidently, smiled again, and disappeared after Billy.
As the door closed behind them, Miss Cornelia found herself smiling
too. "That's a pleasant young fellow—no matter what he is," she said
to herself decidedly, and not even Lizzie's feverish "Haven't you any
sense taking strange men into the house? How do you know he isn't the
Bat?" could draw a reply from her.
Again the thunder rolled as she straightened the papers and magazines
on the table and Lizzie gingerly took up the ouija-board to replace it
on the bookcase with the prayer book firmly on top of it. And this
time, with the roll of the thunder, the lights in the living-room
blinked uncertainly for an instant before they recovered their normal
brilliance.
"There go the lights!" grumbled Lizzie, her fingers still touching the
prayer book, as if for protection. Miss Cornelia did not answer her
directly.
"We'll put the detective in the blue room when he comes," she said.
"You'd better go up and see if it's all ready."
Lizzie started to obey, going toward the alcove to ascend to the
The candor of his smile would have disarmed a stonier-hearted person
than Miss Cornelia. But her suspicions were still awake.
"'That's all, is it?"
"That's enough when you're down and out." His words had an
unmistakable accent of finality. She couldn't help wanting to believe
him, and yet, he wasn't what he had pretended to be—and this night of
all nights was no time to take people on trust!
"How do I know you won't steal the spoons?" she queried, her voice
still gruff.
"Are they nice spoons?" he asked with absurd seriousness.
She couldn't help smiling at his tone. "Beautiful spoons."
Again that engaging, boyish manner of his touched something in her
heart.
"Spoons are a great temptation to me, Miss Van Gorder—but if you'll
take me, I'll promise to leave them alone."
"That's extremely kind of you," she answered with grim humor, knowing
herself beaten. She went over to ring for Billy.
Lizzie took the opportunity to gain her ear.
"I don't trust him, Miss Neily! He's too smooth!" she whispered
warningly.
Miss Cornelia stiffened. "I haven't asked for your opinion, Lizzie,"
she said.
But Lizzie was not to be put off by the Van Gorder manner.
"Oh," she whispered, "you're just as bad as all the rest of 'em. A
good-looking man comes in the door and your brains fly out the window!"
Miss Cornelia quelled her with a gesture and turned back to the young
man. He was standing just where she had left him, his cap in his
hands—but, while her back had been turned, his eyes had made a
stealthy survey of the living-room—a survey that would have made it
plain to Miss Cornelia, if she had seen him, that his interest in the
Fleming establishment was not merely the casual interest of a servant
in his new place of abode. But she had not seen and she could have
told nothing from his present expression.
"Have you had anything to eat lately?" she asked in a kindly voice.
He looked down at his cap. "Not since this morning," he admitted as
Billy answered the bell.
Miss Cornelia turned to the impassive Japanese. "Billy, give this man
something to eat and then show him where he is to sleep."
She hesitated. The gardener's house was some distance from the main
building, and with the night and the approaching storm she felt her own
courage weakening. Into the bargain, whether this stranger had lied
about his gardening or not, she was curiously attracted to him.
"I think," she said slowly, "that I'll have you sleep in the house
here, at least for tonight. Tomorrow we can—the housemaid's room,
Billy," she told the butler. And before their departure she held out a
candle and a box of matches.
"Better take these with you, Brooks," she said. "The local light
company crawls under its bed every time there is a thunderstorm. Good
night, Brooks."
"Good night, ma'am," said the young man smiling. Following Billy to
the door, he paused. "You're being mighty good to me," he said
diffidently, smiled again, and disappeared after Billy.
As the door closed behind them, Miss Cornelia found herself smiling
too. "That's a pleasant young fellow—no matter what he is," she said
to herself decidedly, and not even Lizzie's feverish "Haven't you any
sense taking strange men into the house? How do you know he isn't the
Bat?" could draw a reply from her.
Again the thunder rolled as she straightened the papers and magazines
on the table and Lizzie gingerly took up the ouija-board to replace it
on the bookcase with the prayer book firmly on top of it. And this
time, with the roll of the thunder, the lights in the living-room
blinked uncertainly for an instant before they recovered their normal
brilliance.
"There go the lights!" grumbled Lizzie, her fingers still touching the
prayer book, as if for protection. Miss Cornelia did not answer her
directly.
"We'll put the detective in the blue room when he comes," she said.
"You'd better go up and see if it's all ready."
Lizzie started to obey, going toward the alcove to ascend to the
Similar Books
