Quill's Window Part 23

He continued, oblivious to the workings of the Muse: "Twenty-nine!

By Jove, I begin to feel that I'm getting on in life." He ripped open one of the envelopes.

Maude Baggs Pollock looked intently at the ceiling of the outer office, and thought of line number two:

"The busy Reaper to his door,"

She hastily s.n.a.t.c.hed a pencil from her hair and began jotting down these precious lines. Fumbling for a bit of paper her fingers encountered an envelope addressed to Alaska Spigg. The Muse worked swiftly. Before she had dashed off the first two lines, the second pair were crowding down upon them, to wit:

"But while he whets his fatal scythe, Gaze ye upon his victim lithe."

At this juncture George Rice's son came in for a half dozen postal cards, and while she was making change for a dime the Muse forsook her. Bent on preserving the lines already shaped, she stuffed Alaska's letter into the pocket of her ap.r.o.n, intending to copy them at the first leisure moment. Unfortunately for Alaska, there was a rush of business at the window, including an acrimonious dispute with Mrs. Ryan over the non-arrival of a letter she was expecting from her son, and a lengthy conversation with Miss Flora Grady who dropped in to say that her chilblains always began to bother her in October. In the meantime, Courtney departed.

Two days later, Alaska Spigg received her letter, considerably crumpled and smelling of licorice root,--(a favourite remedy of Mrs.

Pollock's)--but rendered precious by the presence of a mysterious "quatrain" done in violet hues by some poetic wielder of an indelible pencil. Guilt denied Maude Baggs Pollock the right to claim authors.h.i.+p of these imperishable lines, and to this day they remain unidentified in the archives of the Windomville Public Library, displayed upon request by Alaska Spigg, their proud and unselfish donor.

Courtney read two of his letters. The third he consigned, unopened, to the fireplace at Dowd's Tavern. The little package, minus the wrapping paper, was locked away in his trunk.

Charlie Webster, emerging from his office at the dinner hour,--twelve noon,--espied Miss Angie Miller hurrying toward the Tavern. He hailed her,--not ceremoniously or even gallantly,--but in the manner of Windomville.

"Hey!" he called, and Angie promptly responded, not with the dignity for which she was famous but with an entirely human spontaneity:

"Hey yourself!"

She waited till he caught up with her.

"Have you had an answer to that letter, Angie?" he inquired, glancing at a small bunch of letters she held in her hand.

"No, I haven't." she replied, somewhat guardedly. "I can't understand why he hasn't answered, Charlie,--unless he's away or something."

"Must be that," said he, frowning slightly. "You wrote nearly two weeks ago, didn't you?"

"Two weeks ago yesterday."

"Sure you had the right address?"

"Absolutely. Thirty-three Cedar Street. He's had an office there for ever so long. I ought to know where my uncle's office is, oughtn't I?"

"I thought maybe you might have got the wrong tree," explained Charlie.

"It's Cedar," said Miss Angie flatly.

"Cedar and pine are a good deal alike, except in--" began Charlie, doubtfully,

"Goodness!" cried Miss Angie, stopping short. "It IS Pine! How perfectly stupid of me! How utterly reprehensible!"

Charlie stared at her a moment in sheer disdain.

"Well, by gosh, if that ain't like a woman," he exclaimed disgustedly.

"I'd hate to send you for a half dozen oranges if there were any lemons in the market."

"He is such a well-known lawyer," began Angie humbly, "that you would think the mail carrier would--"

"What did you say his name was?"

"Joseph Smith. He is my mother's brother."

"East or West?"

"East or west what?"

"Pine Street. Same as North Fourth Street and South Fourth Street up in the city. It runs both ways, Angie,--you poor simp."

"I shall write to him again this evening," said Angie stiffly. "And I'll thank you, Charlie Webster, to remember that I am a lady and not a--"

"I apologize, Angie," cried Charlie.

"You'd better!"

They walked along in silence for a few rods. Then Charlie spoke.

"You say your uncle was mixed up in a lawsuit of some kind concerning the Thane family?"

"I remember it distinctly. It was five or six years ago, before my mother died. He wrote her a letter about it when he found out that the Thanes originally came from this neighbourhood. I don't remember what it was all about, but I think it was some kind of a rumpus over money."

"Well, you write tonight, Angie," ordered Mr. Webster; "and remember it ain't Cedar, or Oak, or Mahogany. It's Pine,--the stuff you make boxes of."

Much to Courtney's dismay, Alix remained in town over night. He went up to the house that evening, only to receive this disconcerting bit of information. Halfway home, he stopped short in the road, confronted by a most astonis.h.i.+ng doubt. Had she really stayed in town? Could it be possible that she was at home and did not care to see him? Was it an excuse? He compressed his lips. With lightning rapidity certain bits of circ.u.mstantial evidence raced through his mind. In the first place, there was Sergeant, the police dog. He wished he could remember whether he had seen the animal in the car with her that morning. It was her custom to take the dog with her when she went up for the day. One thing was certain: Sergeant was now at home. Did that mean she had returned from the city?

And then there was another extraordinary thing,--something to which he had not given a thought till now. The dog was on the terrace when he strode up the walk. Not only was he there, but he interposed his lean, bristling body between him and the porch-steps, growling ominously and showing his teeth. He did not bark. He merely stood there, daring him to approach. Courtney remembered saying to himself:

"There's one thing sure, you and I can't live in the same house, you filthy brute. You'd better learn how to say your prayers, my amiable friend."

It was not so much the presence of the dog or his inimical att.i.tude that troubled him now as the fact that Mrs. Strong opened the front door without having been summoned by the bell. What did that signify?

But one thing: either she or some one else had been waiting and watching for his arrival,--waiting behind the window curtains of a darkened room!

"Well,--I'm d.a.m.ned!" he swore to himself, as the blood rushed furiously to his head. For an instant he saw red. "Good Lord, what have I done to deserve such a slap in the face as this? What can be--But, what the devil's the matter with me? Of course, she's in town! I must be going batty. Certainly she's in town. She--but, even so, why should she have gone off like this without saying a word to me about it? She didn't mention it last night. Not a word. And she must have known then she was planning to spend the night,--why, by gad, I wonder if she calls that being fair with me? Letting me trail up here tonight, expecting--Any way you want to look at it, it's rotten,--just plain rotten!"

CHAPTER XIV

SUSPICION

Early the next morning she called him up from the city. She explained everything. The little daughter of her best friend had fallen downstairs, injuring herself badly,--perhaps fatally. She felt it her duty to remain with the distracted mother,--she hoped he would understand. And she was in such a hurry to reach the city after the child's father had called her on the telephone that she really did not have the time to stop and explain. He would understand that, too, wouldn't he? And she thought perhaps she would stay over another night. She couldn't leave Marjorie,--at least, not until something definite was known.

He was vastly relieved. All his worry for nothing! He wished now that he had remained in his room instead of going out a second time last night to tramp about the dark, lonely village, driven forth by an ugly fit of temper.