Читать книгу The Figurehead of the "Folly" - Augusta Huiell Seaman - Страница 6

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IT seems almost impossible, but Mary Lou had slept peacefully through all the disturbance, as I found out next morning when I went in to see her before breakfast. Never heard or knew of a thing, and I had to tell her all about it. She was very annoyed at me for not waking her up when it was all going on, so I gave her as full an account as I could.

“And it didn’t come to light after all?” she demanded when I’d finished.

“No. He and Aunt Elsie finally gave up the hunt, and he consented to go to bed and search some more today. Aunt Elsie had to give him a sleeping powder to calm him down and make sure he wouldn’t be rambling around all night looking for it. The rest of us sort of dribbled away to our own rooms after a while.”

“But what in the world was it all about?” demanded Mary Lou impatiently. “What was the document, do you suppose, and why should anyone take it away from him like that—or who could it be? I think it’s all awfully mixed up!”

“So do I!” I agreed. “But I’ll tell you something else. After it was all over I went into Aunt Elsie’s room with her, and we had a long talk about it. She was so excited and upset that she couldn’t sleep—and neither could I—so we just sat there in the dark, mulling it over. She told me quite a little about old Mr. Doane and his peculiarities. He’s been here a good many years, and while he hasn’t exactly made a confidante of her—he doesn’t of anyone apparently—still, things he has said occasionally, when talking with her, have given her a little more knowledge of his affairs than perhaps even he realizes. I can’t remember all she said, or just the way she told it, but this is the main idea:

“Mr. Doane came from a very wealthy family. His father, way back in the clipper ship era in New York, owned a number of vessels and did a thriving import and export business, and Mr. Doane himself, who dearly loved the sea, was at one time commander of one of them. He was quite young then. After the clipper ships passed, he lived in China for a long while, carrying on his father’s business from that end. She doesn’t know what he did when he returned to this country at last, till the time he came to her, some twenty years ago, when she first turned this place into a boarding house, but he’s been with her ever since. He had that room all fixed up at his own expense and seems very contented here. Says he’s the only one remaining of his branch of the family. Aunt Elsie says she doesn’t know whether he has very much of his large fortune left, but evidently it’s enough to keep him here in comfort for the rest of his life.

“But she thinks there must be something he never speaks about that makes him quite unhappy and upset at times—for instance, when he gets one of those mysterious letters. He gets over it, though, after a while, and seems quite peaceful. But this affair last night was something brand new, and she can’t explain it. He wouldn’t say what the document was that disappeared—just told her it was a paper, folded three times, lengthwise. He had it on his desk in the bay window, looking it over, just before he went downstairs. He wasn’t gone ten minutes, but it had completely disappeared when he got back. She suggested that it might have blown out the window, but they both realized that there hadn’t been a breath of wind—the night was so sultry—and he said, anyway, he’d put a paper-weight over it before he left the room. The paper-weight was there, just where he’d left it—but no document. And it wasn’t on the floor or anywhere, though they hunted the whole room over. He wouldn’t hear of anyone else coming in to help. He rarely asks anyone in, anyway. Aunt Elsie says it is quite unusual, his having us both there, as he has. He won’t let Boots in at all—and I can’t say I blame him for that! The young rascal would probably wreck the place and take his ship models to sail on the pond in the park!

“But the queerest thing of all, she said, was that he seemed to have a notion that someone had come into his room and taken the thing while he was downstairs! He says he left his door slightly ajar, so that the light would guide him as he came up the stairs and through the hall. The upper hall light was out. She asked who he thought could have done it—one of the boarders? He said he would make no definite accusation, but he had his own suspicions, and that was all she could get out of him. But what the thing could have been, why anyone should have wanted it, or who could have taken it, remain as much a mystery as ever!”

“Well, who do you think it could have been?” cried Mary Lou, all excitement over this new problem. “Let’s go over them all. Of course, you and I and Auntie are out. We know we didn’t do it!”

“And Boots slept through it all too,” I pointed out. “His mother said so, and added that she was thankful to pieces for it—he’d have been such a nuisance.”

“All right,” went on Mary Lou. “That accounts for him. And certainly I can’t imagine his mother or father doing such a thing.”

“Nor Miss Markham,” I added. “She looked too sweet in that pale lavender negligee. And so bewildered about it all! How about Mrs. Rowland?”

“I wouldn’t put it past her,” giggled Mary Lou. “She’s such an old Paul Pry! But somehow I don’t think it’s very likely she’d dare do such a thing, do you?”

“No, I don’t,” said I, “and the only one that’s left is Mr. Conroy.”

“Now there’s the one I think most likely!” whispered Mary Lou. “He looks perfectly capable of it—and Mr. Doane hates him—no one knows why!”

“But, remember, he came out of his room after all the rest of us were there,” I reminded her, “and he looked as if he’d been sleeping for a month, and was all at sea as to what ‘the rumpus’ was about, as he said.”

“That may not mean a thing!” declared Mary Lou sagely. “He might have done it and gone back to his room and just pretended he’d been asleep all the time, afterward. And his door is almost opposite Mr. Doane’s too.”

I had to admit it was a possibility, but Mr. Conroy’s utter bewilderment about the whole affair had seemed very genuine to me, and after all, I’d seen him, the night before—and Mary Lou hadn’t. However, I couldn’t stay talking any longer, as it was high time I ran down to get my breakfast and then bring up Mary Lou’s, as I generally did. So we had to postpone our discussion till later.

Mr. Doane did not come down for breakfast but had it sent to his room that morning, and I found the rest in excited discussion of the doings of the night before. Boots Fraser was frantic because he’d missed it all and whispered to me that he was going to do some hunting on his own hook, that morning, for the lost document. I warned him that he wasn’t allowed in Mr. Doane’s room, so he’d better not try anything of the sort. But he retorted, darkly, that he had his own ideas about things, and he wasn’t going to tell anyone what they were. It left me dreading what the young scamp might be up to. His mother had said he’d have to return to school the next Monday, as his collar bone was doing nicely, and I yearned for the day to come, as it would keep him out of mischief at least five hours out of the twenty-four, anyway! But Monday was still three days off.

Aunt Elsie, very sleepy and tired after our hectic night, told me that Mr. Doane was still much upset and she was very worried about him. He had refused to let the maid come in that day to give his room its usual weekly cleaning (which he always superintended himself) till he had done some more searching, and had announced that he was going to keep his door locked, every minute of the time he wasn’t there himself. Poor Aunt Elsie! I felt so sorry to think she had this added problem on her hands besides the rest of her perplexities.

The morning had cleared off, beautifully cool and delightful after the heat and storm of the night before, so Mary Lou and I elected to spend most of it in the garden, and Osgood got her out there shortly after breakfast. Fearing Boots might get into mischief, I invited him out with us to listen to some reading, but, contrary to his usual joy at the prospect, he thanked me and said he had something else to do but might join us later. His plans made me quite uneasy, and we saw him later prowling mysteriously about the garden and lawn, poking into the bushes and gazing up at the windows. Later he disappeared around the other side of the house. It must have been nearly noon when he came stalking solemnly over toward where we sat, plumped himself down on the grass in his usual cross-legged position, and announced:

“Well, it’s all over but the shouting!”

“What’s all over?” we both demanded in the same breath.

“Precious document found and returned to owner!” he stunned us by answering.

“Are you just teasing us, Boots, or is that the truth?” demanded Mary Lou.

“I’m like George Washington—I never tell a lie!” he retorted provokingly.

“Well, for goodness’ sake! Tell us all about it!” I cried. “Who found it? Where was it—and so on?”

“Yours truly had the honor!” he announced.

“You?” we both gasped unbelievingly.

“And why not?” he inquired. “Some day I expect to be known as ‘Boots Fraser, The Mystery Solver,’ and I’m going to have a program on the radio telling about my adventures. I seem to be the only one around here that does any brain work on these things.”

“If you don’t get right down to business,” I cried, “and tell us what really happened—we’ll both—well—wring your neck!” At which he grinned and continued:

“All right—here goes!—I figured it out that it was all bunk, looking around in the room for that paper—whatever it was! If anyone’d been in there after it, they’d either have taken it away with them or perhaps got scared, hearing Mr. Doane coming back, and dropped it somewhere—wouldn’t have time to put it back under the paper-weight Miss McKeever said he had over it. She told us that at breakfast, you know. So I doped it out this way: S’posing they were looking at it—maybe didn’t mean to take it—just look it over—’n’ heard him coming upstairs? Only just time to beat it back to their room!—But there’s something they haven’t had time to see—and they’re dying to. What would they do? If they took it with them and the place was searched afterward, they’d get in a lot of trouble. But if they dropped it out the window they might have a chance to get it later and look it over—and just leave it out there—as if it blew out accidentally—or something like that. Anyhow, that’s the dope I worked on, and I started in hunting around all over the place on the chance it had blown off somewhere, after the wind came up this morning. But I didn’t have a bit of luck.

“So that narrows me down to the space right under or around that big bay window in Mr. Doane’s room. I didn’t want him to see me around there—he’d just naturally holler out to me to scat!—so I kept close to the house. You know, there’s some bushes under his window, and a big wistaria vine climbing up to just under the sill. I thought the bushes would be pretty ‘hot,’ ’cause that’s where it’d likely fall—but nothing doing. Then I began to examine the wistaria vine. That’s pretty thick. I had to crawl way back of it to see much. And did my heart stand still when I saw a bit of white—something or other—like paper, sticking between that vine and the wall—’bout halfway up to the window!

“I tried to shake the vine, but the thing wouldn’t budge. Then I tried poking it down with a long stick, but I was afraid I might tear it, that way. So finally I sneaked round to the garage and swiped a short stepladder—lucky for me Osgood was out with the car!—and I got it round there before anyone saw me. Had a job climbing up with this pesky arm in a sling, and I was dead scared for fear old Mr. Doane would look out and catch me! Wanted to do the job thoroughly before I was nabbed and shooed off it!

“Well, to make it snappy, I reached it at last and climbed down, and then I unfolded it to make sure I’d got the right article. Then I marched straight up to Mr. Doane’s room and knocked at the door. The old gent called out, ‘Who’s there?’ and when I told him he just called, ‘Go away! I don’t want to see anyone!’ Pretty grouchy, I thought, but I didn’t exactly blame him. But I hollered back that I had something I was pretty sure he’d like to see, and after a spell he unlocked the door and peeked out.

“When he saw what I had in my hand, he gasped, grabbed it, and shouted: Where did you get this, young man?’ After I told him, he looked me over, sort of suspiciously, as if he thought I was playing a joke on him—or something—and then he said, ‘Thank you! This has relieved my mind a great deal, young man.’ Then he slammed the door shut—and that was that! And I ain’t certain yet but what he thinks I took it, to begin with, just to get him all mussed up, and returned it before things got too hot! Oh, well—it’s all in the day’s work of a Mystery-Solver.”

“But, Boots,” cried Mary Lou excitedly, “you say you opened the thing and looked it over before you took it upstairs. What was it?”

“You’d never guess in a blue moon!” he answered, chewing a blade of grass. “Nothing to get all hot and bothered over, I shouldn’t think. It was a map—an old map, drawn in pen and ink, with names or things written on it so fine you could hardly read ’em without a magnifying glass.”