CHAPTER XIV. THE TRAP-DOOR
By Sunday evening, a week after the wreck, my inaction had goaded me tofrenzy. The very sight of Johnson across the street or lurking, alwayswithin sight of the house, kept me constantly exasperated. It was onthat day that things began to come to a focus, a burning-glass of eventsthat seemed to center on me.
I dined alone that evening in no cheerful frame of mind. There had beena polo game the day before and I had lent a pony, which is always a badthing to do. And she had wrenched her shoulder, besides helping tolose the game. There was no one in town: the temperature was ninety andclimbing, and my left hand persistently cramped under its bandage.
Mrs. Klopton herself saw me served, my bread buttered and cut intidbits, my meat ready for my fork. She hovered around me maternally,obviously trying to cheer me.
"The paper says still warmer," she ventured. "The thermometer isninety-two now."
"And this coffee is two hundred and fifty," I said, putting down my cup."Where is Euphemia? I haven't seen her around, or heard a dish smash allday."
"Euphemia is in bed," Mrs. Klopton said gravely. "Is your meat cutsmall enough, Mr. Lawrence?" Mrs. Klopton can throw more mystery intoan ordinary sentence than any one I know. She can say, "Are your sheetsdamp, sir?" And I can tell from her tone that the house across thestreet has been robbed, or that my left hand neighbor has appendicitis.So now I looked up and asked the question she was waiting for.
"What's the matter with Euphemia?" I inquired idly.
"Frightened into her bed," Mrs. Klopton said in a stage whisper. "She'shad three hot water bottles and she hasn't done a thing all day butmoan."
"She oughtn't to take hot water bottles," I said in my severesttone. "One would make me moan. You need not wait, I'll ring if I needanything."
Mrs. Klopton sailed to the door, where she stopped and wheeledindignantly. "I only hope you won't laugh on the wrong side of your facesome morning, Mr. Lawrence," she declared, with Christian fortitude."But I warn you, I am going to have the police watch that house nextdoor."
I was half inclined to tell her that both it and we were under policesurveillance at that moment. But I like Mrs. Klopton, in spite of thefact that I make her life a torment for her, so I refrained.
"Last night, when the paper said it was going to storm, I sent Euphemiato the roof to bring the rugs in. Eliza had slipped out, although it washer evening in. Euphemia went up to the roof--it was eleven o'clock--andsoon I heard her running down-stairs crying. When she got to my room shejust folded up on the floor. She said there was a black figure sittingon the parapet of the house next door--the empty house--and that whenshe appeared it rose and waved long black arms at her and spit like acat."
I had finished my dinner and was lighting a cigarette. "If there was anyone up there, which I doubt, they probably sneezed," I suggested. "Butif you feel uneasy, I'll take a look around the roof to-night beforeI turn in. As far as Euphemia goes, I wouldn't be uneasy abouther--doesn't she always have an attack of some sort when Eliza rings inan extra evening on her?"
So I made a superficial examination of the window locks that night,visiting parts of the house that I had not seen since I bought it. ThenI went to the roof. Evidently it had not been intended for any purposesave to cover the house, for unlike the houses around, there was nostaircase. A ladder and a trap-door led to it, and it required some nicebalancing on my part to get up with my useless arm. I made it, however,and found this unexplored part of my domain rather attractive. It wascooler than down-stairs, and I sat on the brick parapet and smoked myfinal cigarette. The roof of the empty house adjoined mine along theback wing, but investigation showed that the trap-door across the lowdividing wall was bolted underneath.
There was nothing out of the ordinary anywhere, and so I assuredMrs. Klopton. Needless to say, I did not tell her that I had left thetrap-door open, to see if it would improve the temperature of the house.I went to bed at midnight, merely because there was nothing else to do.I turned on the night lamp at the head of my bed, and picked up a volumeof Shaw at random (it was Arms and the Man, and I remember thinkinggrimly that I was a good bit of a chocolate cream soldier myself),and prepared to go to sleep. Shaw always puts me to sleep. I haveno apologies to make for what occurred that night, and not even anexplanation that I am sure of. I did a foolish thing under impulse, andI have not been sorry.
It was something after two when the door-bell rang. It rang quickly,twice. I got up drowsily, for the maids and Mrs. Klopton alwayslock themselves beyond reach of the bell at night, and put on adressing-gown. The bell rang again on my way down-stairs. I lit the halllight and opened the door. I was wide-awake now, and I saw that it wasJohnson. His bald head shone in the light--his crooked mouth was twistedin a smile.
"Good Heavens, man," I said irritably. "Don't you ever go home and go tobed?"
He closed the vestibule door behind him and cavalierly turned out thelight. Our dialogue was sharp, staccato.
"Have you a key to the empty house next door?" he demanded. "Somebody'sin there, and the latch is caught."
"The houses are alike. The key to this door may fit. Did you see them goin?"
"No. There's a light moving up from room to room. I saw something likeit last night, and I have been watching. The patrolman reported queerdoings there a week or so ago."
"A light!" I exclaimed. "Do you mean that you--"
"Very likely," he said grimly. "Have you a revolver?"
"All kinds in the gun rack," I replied, and going into the den, I cameback with a Smith and Wesson. "I'm not much use," I explained, "withthis arm, but I'll do what I can. There may be somebody there. Theservants here have been uneasy."
Johnson planned the campaign. He suggested on account of my familiaritywith the roof, that I go there and cut off escape in that direction. "Ihave Robison out there now--the patrolman on the beat," he said. "He'llwatch below and you above, while I search the house. Be as quiet aspossible."
I was rather amused. I put on some clothes and felt my way carefullyup the stairs, the revolver swinging free in my pocket, my hand on therail. At the foot of the ladder I stopped and looked up. Above me therewas a gray rectangle of sky dotted with stars. It occurred to me thatwith my one serviceable hand holding the ladder, I was hardly in aposition to defend myself, that I was about to hoist a body that I amrather careful of into a danger I couldn't see and wasn't particularlykeen about anyhow. I don't mind saying that the seconds it took me toscramble up the ladder were among the most unpleasant that I recall.
I got to the top, however, without incident. I could see fairlywell after the darkness of the house beneath, but there was nothingsuspicious in sight. The roofs, separated by two feet of brick wall,stretched around me, unbroken save by an occasional chimney. I went verysoftly over to the other trap, the one belonging to the suspected house.It was closed, but I imagined I could hear Johnson's footsteps ascendingheavily. Then even that was gone. A near-by clock struck three as Istood waiting. I examined my revolver then, for the first time, andfound it was empty!
I had been rather skeptical until now. I had had the usual tolerantattitude of the man who is summoned from his bed to search for burglars,combined with the artificial courage of firearms. With the discoveryof my empty gun, I felt like a man on the top of a volcano in livelyeruption. Suddenly I found myself staring incredulously at the trap-doorat my feet. I had examined it early in the evening and found it bolted.Did I imagine it, or had it raised about an inch? Wasn't it movingslowly as I looked? No, I am not a hero: I was startled almost into apanic. I had one arm, and whoever was raising that trap-door had two. Myknees had a queer inclination to bend the wrong way.
Johnson's footsteps were distinct enough, but he was evidently farbelow. The trap, raised perhaps two inches now, remained stationary.There was no sound from beneath it: once I thought I heard two or threegasping respirations: I am not sure they were not my own. I wanteddesperately to stand on one leg at a time and hold the other up out offocus of a possible re
volver.
I did not see the hand appear. There was nothing there, and then it wasthere, clutching the frame of the trap. I did the only thing I couldthink of; I put my foot on it!
There was not a sound from beneath. The next moment I was kneeling andhad clutched the wrist just above the hand. After a second's struggle,the arm was still. With something real to face, I was myself again.
"Don't move, or I'll stand on the trap and break your arm," I panted.What else could I threaten? I couldn't shoot, I couldn't even fight."Johnson!" I called.
And then I realized the thing that stayed with me for a month, the thingI can not think of even now without a shudder. The hand lay ice cold,strangely quiescent. Under my fingers, an artery was beating feebly.The wrist was as slender as--I held the hand to the light. Then I let itdrop.
"Good Lord," I muttered, and remained on my knees, staring at the spotwhere the hand had been. It was gone now: there was a faint rustle inthe darkness below, and then silence.
I held up my own hand in the starlight and stared at a long scratchin the palm. "A woman!" I said to myself stupidly. "By all that'sridiculous, a woman!"
Johnson was striking matches below and swearing softly to himself. "Howthe devil do you get to the roof?" he called. "I think I've broken mynose."
He found the ladder after a short search and stood at the bottom,looking up at me. "Well, I suppose you haven't seen him?" he inquired."There are enough darned cubbyholes in this house to hide a patrolwagon load of thieves." He lighted a fresh match. "Hello, here's anotherdoor!"
By the sound of his diminishing footsteps I supposed it was a rearstaircase. He came up again in ten minutes or so, this time with thepoliceman.
"He's gone, all right," he said ruefully. "If you'd been attending toyour business, Robison, you'd have watched the back door."
"I'm not twins." Robison was surly.
"Well," I broke in, as cheerfully as I could, "if you are through withthis jolly little affair, and can get down my ladder without havingmy housekeeper ring the burglar alarm, I have some good Monongahelawhisky--eh?"
They came without a second invitation across the roof, and with themsafely away from the house I breathed more freely. Down in the den Ifulfilled my promise, which Johnson drank to the toast, "Coming throughthe rye." He examined my gun rack with the eye of a connoisseur, andeven when he was about to go he cast a loving eye back at the weapons.
"Ever been in the army?" he inquired.
"No," I said with a bitterness that he noticed but failed to comprehend."I'm a chocolate cream soldier--you don't read Shaw, I suppose,Johnson?"
"Never heard of him," the detective said indifferently. "Well, goodnight, Mr. Blakeley. Much obliged." At the door he hesitated andcoughed.
"I suppose you understand, Mr. Blakeley," he said awkwardly, "thatthis--er--surveillance is all in the day's work. I don't like it, butit's duty. Every man to his duty, sir."
"Sometime when you are in an open mood, Johnson," I returned, "you canexplain why I am being watched at all."
The Man in Lower Ten Page 14
