The House of Mystery Part 10

"Maybe you specialize on mendin' people's bones and maybe your specialty is their insides. I've got a specialty, too. You see, in this business it's easy to go all to the bad unless you do somethin' for other people. You have to have a kind of religion to tie to. Mine is unitin' and reunitin' lovin' hearts. Of course you're saying that this is a lot of foolishness. Never mind." She paused a moment, and plied the needle. "What's the trouble between you and that slim little niece of Mrs. Markham's that you want her aunt exposed? An' can't I fix it some other way?"

"What do you know about Miss Markham?" asked the sitter.

"I've opened myself up to you like a school-girl in a cosey corner chat," said Rosalie Le Grange; "ain't it time _you_ was doin' some confidin'?"

"Did you ever hear that Miss Markham had been brought up to be a medium? That she mustn't marry because it would destroy her powers?

That she's been taught to believe that she will never develop fully until she's put aside an earthly love?"

"O-ho!" quoth Rosalie; "so that's the way the wind sets! My! I must say that's the fakiest thing I ever heard about Mrs. Markham. We all know that a medium's born. This dark room developin' seance work is bosh to stall the dopes along. Still, Mrs. Markham has always played a lone hand. She's never mixed with other mediums, which is why I'll be safe in goin' into her house--she won't recognize me. Probably she's kept some fool notions that the rest of us lost long ago. But the poor little puss!"--her voice sank to a ripple--"the poor little puss!" Her eyes grew tender, and tenderly they met the softened eyes of the young man. "Just robbin' her of her girlhood! I wonder"--her voice grew harder as she turned to practical consideration of the subject--"if Mrs. Markham got the idea from them Yogis and adepts and things that she mixed with in India. Just like 'em. They've got the real thing, but they're little, crawling Dagoes with no more blood in 'em than a swarm of horseflies."

"It is terrible to think of," said the sitter.

"You poor dear, I should say so!" responded Rosalie. "Of course, I see what you want done. If I can prove that Mrs. Markham is a fake, then I prove to the girl that it's all bosh about her not marrying. I can't give you no encouragement as far as exposin' goes, seem' 's I know Mrs.

Markham is real, but if I'm on the ground, maybe I can fix it some other way. How are you goin' to git me into the house?"

"This week," responded her co-conspirator, "Mrs. Markham will advertise for a housekeeper. I suppose you can play housekeeper well enough to keep the place a month, can't you?"

"If there's anythin' I can do," responded Rosalie, "it's keep house. Is it a big house?"

"Three stories--three or four servants, I suppose."

"That's good; I'll enjoy it; I never had a chance at _that_!"

"Remember you must get the place from the other applicants."

"If my mediums.h.i.+p hasn't taught me enough to git me a plain job, it hasn't taught me nothin'," responded Rosalie.

"Then it's as good as done," answered the young man. "Shall I pay you now or later? Mrs. Markham's salary will be your tip."

"It's a good paymaster that pays when the job's got," answered Rosalie.

Her sitter rose, as though to go.

"Confidences is like love," said Rosalie, "first sight or not for ten years. Here I've opened my whole bag of tricks, and yours is locked tight. Don't you think you might tell me your name?"

The young man reached for a card.

"Dr. Blake," he said as he fumbled.

"Walter Huntington Blake, Curfew Club," corrected Rosalie.

His hands dropped, and he stared.

"How--how--"

"Spirits--my kind." Rosalie extended her hand. In it rested his little card case. "Excuse me. I done it just to show you I wasn't _quite_ a darn fool, if I do tell everything I know to a stranger. Now don't get silly an' think from this marvelous demonstration that I've been givin'

you a con talk. It's just a lesson not to take your card case along when you visit a medium. It's a proof that I can expose Mrs. Markham if there 's anything to expose. Good-by Dr. Blake, and good luck."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "THEN IT'S AS GOOD AS DONE"]

The following Wednesday, at eight o'clock in the morning, a messenger boy woke Mme. Le Grange by prolonged knocking. He pa.s.sed in this note:

Answer early the third advertis.e.m.e.nt, third column, sixth page, in the _Herald_ Help Wanted column. From the address, I know it is Mrs. M.'s.

W.H. BLAKE.

VII

ROSALIE'S FIRST REPORT

Rosalie Le Grange, upon a.s.suming her position as housekeeper in the Markham establishment, had written Dr. Blake that Tuesday was her afternoon out, and suggesting that he meet her every Tuesday afternoon at three in the ladies' parlor of the old Hotel Greenwich, which lay far from main lines of traffic and observation. So they sat on the faded velvets of the Greenwich that fall afternoon, heads together in close conference.

"You're wastin' your money," began Rosalie.

"Tell me about Miss Markham first," he interrupted; "is she well?"

"As well as she ever is--that girl's far from strong. The more I think of this job"--she reverted to her subject--"the more meechin' I feel about it, spyin' on a good woman an' a great medium like her. Git the girl away from _her_! Let me tell you, Dr. Blake, your girl's the luckiest girl in the world, and I don't care if I have to say it right into your face. If _I'd_ had a chance to develop my mediums.h.i.+p straight from a great vessel of the spirit like that, I wouldn't be fakin' test books, and robbin' card cases, and givin' demonstrations to store girls at a dollar a trance. To learn from Mrs. Markham! She ought to thank G.o.d for the chance."

Then, perceiving that she had left his feelings out of consideration--noticing by the droop of his eyes how much she had depressed him--she patted his knee and let a tender smile flutter over her dimples.

"Of course, Boy," she said, with the sweet patronage of woman, "I don't take no stock in the notion that the girl has got to put aside earthly love, and that kind of talk. We've all got our notions and our places--where we don't follow the spirit guides. Perhaps that's just Mrs. Markham's weak spot. Maybe her own love affairs was ashes in her mouth. Come to think of it, I never did know who Mr. Markham was. What I'm tryin' to tell you is that you've got your pig by the wrong ear, for you can't expose what's genuine. And I'm ashamed of what I'm doin', and if I hadn't promised to stay a month, I'd leave this very day." Her companion made an involuntary motion of alarm.

"Don't be afraid--I'm not goin' to yet. Gettin' the place was easy. You want a housekeeper stupid and respectable; I was all that. I was bothered, before I got started, to get the letters of recommendation, but I got 'em--never mind how. And they were good, too. I'm Mrs.

Granger, as I told you, and I'm a widow. So I took the place away from a Swede, an Irishwoman, and a French ginny. Right at the start, I found a line on Mrs. Markham. When she was alone with me, after we come to terms, she was just as kind and good as any lady in the land. I don't suppose that means anythin' to you, but it did to me. Big fakirs and crooks just live their lives in terror, afraid of their own shadows.

They've got to be sweet and kind on the outside, and so they take out their crossness and irritation on the help. I'd rather be keeper in an asylum than cook to a burglar. But Mrs. Markham was _fine_--and no airs and no softness. If the spirit ever hallowed a face, it's hers. I know you don't like her, and you can't be blamed--her keeping your little girl from you! But you must have noticed her voice, how pretty it is if she _does_ talk English fas.h.i.+on. Now that was my first sight into her.

Whatever she's done, she's never done materializin', which is just where pure, proved fakin' begins. It's as soft as a girl's. It wouldn't be if she'd worked up her voices for men controls. I've been complimented on my voice myself, but you must have noticed the way it slides down and gits deep every little while. That's left to show I did materializin' in St. Paul; and I'm ashamed of it, too. My, how I wander around in Robin Hood's barn! But I'm full of it."

"Tell me everything," he said, "and in your own way."

"'You know my profession?' says Mrs. Markham.

"'No, Ma'am,' says I.

"'I'm a religious teacher, in a way,' says she. 'A medium if you care to call it that. I prefer another name.'

"'A medium!' says I. 'My! I was to a medium last week!'

"Perhaps you don't see why I done that. 'T was to give her an opening.

First move, when you're fakin' on a big scale, is to make dopes out of your servants. Git 'em to swallow the whole thing; then find the yellow spot, work it, and pull 'em into your fakin'. But she never followed the lead, even so much as to seem interested. 'Indeed?' says she.

'Well, I see only a few callers, and usually in the evening. I'm a little particular about bein' disturbed at such times, and I must ask you not to come below the top floor on such evenings. Ellen, the parlor maid, always sits by the front door to answer the bell.' That was a relief. I was afraid I'd have to answer bells, which would have been risky. Dopes that follow big mediums go to little ones sometimes; there was a chance that I'd let in one of my own sitters and be recognized.

And the arrangement didn't look faky to me as it may to you; for a fact, you're just a bundle of nerves when you're coming in and out of real control.

"'And I hope you'll be comfortable,' says she, 'I'm coming up this evening to see if your room is all right and if there's anything you want. You'll like my servants, I think.'

"Right there I began to be ashamed of our game, and it hasn't got any less, I'll tell _you_.