Quill's Window Part 31

"Well, when will she be able to see me?" he demanded on being informed that Alix was in no condition to see any one.

"I can't say," said Mrs. Strong shortly.

"Have you had the doctor in to see her?"

"No."

"Well, that's rather strange, isn't it?"

"Not at all, Mr. Thane. She isn't ill. She has had a shock,--same as I have had,--and she'll get over it in good time."

"You seem to have survived the shock remarkably well, Mrs. Strong,"

he said with unmistakable irony.

"How is the scratch on your face?" she asked, ignoring the remark.

"Amounts to nothing," he replied, almost gruffly. "I'll write a little note to Alix, if you'll be so good as to take it up to her."

"Very well. I'll see that she gets it. Will you write it here?"

"If you don't mind. I'll wait in case she wants to send down an answer."

"I'll get you some paper and pen and ink," said she.

"Some paper, that's all. I have a fountain pen."

He dashed off a few lines, folded the sheet of note paper and handed it to Mrs. Strong. He had written nothing he was unwilling for her to read. In fact, he expected her to read it as soon as she was safely out of his sight.

"She thinks she may feel up to seeing you tomorrow--or next day,"

reported the housekeeper on her return from Alix's room.

His rankling brain seized upon the words--" tomorrow--next day." He had used them himself only the night before. "Tomorrow,--or next day!" He frowned. Hang it all, was she putting him off? He experienced a slight chill.

"I will run in again in the morning," he said, managing to produce a sympathetic smile. "And I'll telephone this evening to see how she is."

All the way down the walk to the gate, he kept repeating the words "tomorrow,--or next day." In some inexplicable way they had fastened themselves upon him. At the gate he turned and looked up at Alix's bedroom windows. The lace curtains hung straight and immovable. It pleased him to think that she was peering out at him from behind one of those screens of lace, soft-eyed and longingly. Moved by a sudden impulse, he waved his hand and smiled.

His guess was right. She WAS looking down through the narrow slit between the curtains. Her eyes were dark and brooding and slightly contracted by the perplexity that filled them. She started back in confusion, her hand going swiftly to her breast. Was it possible that he could see through the curtains? A warm flush mantled her face. She felt it steal down over her body. Incontinently she fled from the window and hopped back into the warm bed she had left on hearing the front door close.

"How silly!" she cried irritably. She sat bolt upright and looked at her reflection in the mirror of her dressing-table across the room. Her night-dress had slipped down from one shapely shoulder; her dark, glossy hair hung in two long braids down her back; her warm, red lips were parted in a shy, embarra.s.sed smile.

"I wonder--But of course he couldn't. Unless,--" and here the smile faded away,--"unless he possesses some strange power to see through walls and--Sometimes I feel that he has that power. If he could not see me, why did he wave his hand at me?"

There came a knock at her door. She was seized by a sudden panic.

For a moment she was unable to speak.

"Alix! Are you awake?"

It was Mrs. Strong's voice. A vast wave of relief swept through her.

"Goodness!" she gasped, and then: "Come in, Aunt Nancy?"

"Courtney Thane has just been here," said the housekeeper as she approached the bed.

"Has he?" inquired Alix innocently.

"He left a note for you."

"Read it to me," said the girl.

"'Dearest: I am grieved beyond words to hear that you are so awfully done up. I am not surprised. It was enough to bowl anybody over.

I did not sleep a wink last night, thinking about it. I have been living in a daze ever since. I cannot begin to tell you how disappointed I am in not being able to see you this morning. Perhaps by tonight you will feel like letting me come. Ever yours, Courtney.'"

"Well?" said Mrs. Strong, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

A fine line appeared between Alix's eyes. She was deep in thought.

"Have they caught the man?" she asked, after a moment.

"Not that I know of. What's more, they'll never catch him. Bill Foss sent word up he was bringing several Italians here to see if we could identify one of them as the man."

"How can we be expected to identify a man whose face was covered by a mask?"

"Well, Bill is doing his best," replied Mrs. Strong patiently.

"We've got to say that much for him. Charlie Webster was here early this morning to say that the police up in town have been notified, and they're sending a detective out. But he won't be any better than Bill Foss, so it's a waste of time. What we ought to have is a Pinkerton man from Chicago."

Despite the calm, deliberate manner in which she spoke, there was an odd, eager light in Mrs. Strong's eyes.

"I wish you would go down to the warehouse, Aunt Nancy, and ask Charlie to take the car and go up to the city. Tell him to call up the Pinkerton offices in Chicago and ask them to send the best man they have. No one must know about it, however. Impress that very firmly upon Charlie. Not even the police--or Bill Foss. Have him arrange to meet the man in town and give him directions and all the information possible. Please do it at once,--and tell Ed to have the car ready."

"That's the way I like to hear you talk," cried Mrs. Strong.

Half an hour later, Charlie Webster was on his way to the city. He had an additional commission to perform. Mrs. Strong was sending a telegram to her son David.

II

The next day a well-dressed, breezy-looking young man walked into Charlie's office and exclaimed:

"h.e.l.lo, Uncle Charlie!"

"Good Lord!" gasped Charlie Webster. "It can't be--why, by gosh, if it ain't Harry! Holy smoke!" He jumped up and grasped the stranger's hand. Pumping it vigorously, he cried: "I'd know that Conkling nose if I saw it in Ethiopia. G.o.d bless my soul, you're--you're a MAN!

It beats all how you kids grow up. How's your mother? And what in thunder are you doing here?"

"I guess I've changed a lot, Uncle Charlie," said the young man, "but you ain't? You look just the same as you did fifteen years ago."

"How old are you? My gosh, I can't believe my eyes."

"I was twenty-four last birthday. You--"